


Adarise Salvel, Outlander

by Svetlaena



Series: The Adarise Salvel Saga: A Morrowind Novelization [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Adventure, Female Protagonist, Gen, Novelization, Religious Conflict, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svetlaena/pseuds/Svetlaena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one is given the gift of freedom, one's true self is finally allowed to surface. But what would you do if that true self wasn't you at all? This is the story of a Dunmer woman's struggle to find both herself and her place among the people she never got to know. Book One of Three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: 16-17 Last Seed, 3E426

This may be little more than old parchment bound with leather and twine, but it is the first material possession I have ever owned.

My name is Adarise Salvel. I am a Dunmer, a Dark Elf, and I was born in a prison. But that is not what I wish to waste ink writing on these pages about. Today, I am going home, or so I am told. They are taking me to the land of my people. Why? Perhaps they needed the cell I was using? I do not openly question my good fortune.

The ship pitches much and makes me ill but cannot dampen my spirits. They are saying land is near, so I will wait it out.

* * *

**16 Last Seed, 3E426**

I settle down for the night on a roll on a hard floor, but I do so as a free woman so I am not discouraged.

Seyda Neen is the name of the town I have been released into. 'Swamp Fever capital' to the locals. Mudcrabs, mushrooms, and swamp as far as I can see, and yet while this is miserable to most, the air here is sweet to me.

It would seem my freedom does not come without some small condition. The Imperials are hard bargainers. I am to deliver a package to a town called Balmora; inquiring about this place around Seyda Neen earned me a set of written directions. The general consensus seems to be that I should hire a silt-strider, a sort of great insect they use for transport, but I am down to my last few coins after purchasing a sensible weapon and a few pieces of iron for myself.

I am too curious about this place not to explore anyway. It will have to wait, however, as I plan to do a few odd jobs for some extra coin before setting out for Balmora. The Imperials did not give me a deadline.

* * *

**17 Last Seed, 3E426**

It is only today I find myself wondering what has become of Jiub. We were not exactly friends, but he was a fellow Dunmer, made sufficient conversation on the prison boat and woke me from the nightmare I had on the way. It would not seem he was released into Seyda Neen with me... I wonder if he was released at all? I do not even know his crime.

The Imperial Legion guards in the settlement, upon seeing me wearing armor and carrying my frugal sword, made sure to let me know their organization is recruiting. I say nothing; surely they will forgive my lack of eagerness to join the ranks of those that held me in a cell my whole life over the crimes of the ones who birthed me.

Speaking of the armor, this shoddy iron requires more upkeep than predicted and yet was all I could afford, and it took much haggling to get the local tradesman Arille to sell me the materials to repair it. Nevermind that it was damaged while taking care of local smugglers. No no, merchant, don't do me any  _favors,_ it isn't as if I'm keeping you in business.

I took to the road in the afternoon, little coin in my purse but enough to get by. Even though the locals warned me of many dangers on the road, I encountered naught but a large insect or two- I am told they are called  _scribs_ , and they gave me no trouble. Tonight I stay in a very Imperial settlement, Pelagiad, confident that I shall see Balmora tomorrow with no problem.

I've been asking around in this half-fortress, half-settlement, out of sheer curiosity. The Legion built this place to guard the roads, they say, but it's become farmland for colonists from Cyrodiil and retired soldiers alike. Imperials everywhere.

If nothing else, they have brought their finery and sense of taste with them. I was able to buy a fine silken skirt adorned with golden stars to wear over my shoddy armor pieces- I feel it gives me a sense of class.

The murmurs in the tavern are alight with talk of some prophecy that has the local religion in an upset. This, however, is something I do not understand very well yet- if I come across one of these 'Tribunal temples' eventually, I shall have them explain it to me. The only Gods I am familiar with are the Nine, and I cannot say that I am on the best of terms with them.


	2. 18 Last Seed, 3E426

**18 Last Seed, 3E426**

Last night at the Halfway Tavern I rented a room and spent the evening drinking with a most pleasant lady who called herself Ladia Flarugius. She's a very well-traveled, well-educated sort of woman, and was able to answer nearly every question I had. She provided me with two maps: one of the Empire in its entirety and one of Vvardenfell, the island that I am on. Seeing that I could barely afford my ale, Ladia not only covered my bill at the tavern but was even kind enough to give me a small booklet about herbal medicine so that I might make some coin on the road by picking desired ingredients to sell to the settlements, where they are much needed. I shall have to pay back her kindness someday.

According to her, it was only recently that most of the settlements here sprung up, trade in the area just being made legal, although there have always been natives called 'ashlanders'. She spoke to me of other cities on Vvardenfell; this 'Vivec City' she described sounds wondrous and I will have to see it for myself once I've made my delivery for the Imperials.

Nursing a slight headache I left Pelagiad before the sun rose. Watching dawn break over this place, this region my map calls the Ascadian Isles, is nothing short of breathtaking. Light pours through hanging willows and mosses and sets the surprisingly clear water sparkling like a mirror. It was nearly enough to bring me to tears: I have gone my whole life without ever seeing a sunrise until this day. I shall have to see more of them in the time to come.

I am in a very different place now, settled on the roadside with a Kwama egg I purchased in town for lunch. Gone are the tall, healthy mushrooms and green trees and bountiful herbs. In their place stand twisted dead trees with strange silhouettes and grey stone, as far as I can see. I believe I spotted the pointed towers of a ruin peeking over some larger rocks in the distance as well.

Perhaps this is not a good spot to rest. I have only heard about the dangerous 'cliff racer' beasts before now, but I am pretty sure the winged creature circling above me matches the description...

* * *

An hour or so after my last entry the landscape changed again. Grey rock became brown and I saw plants again- but not the same plants and not nearly as lush. The air feels drier here and the wildlife make such strange, alien sounds that my hand was almost always on my sword-hilt. After passing a Legion fort I was here.

Balmora.

Now I sit on a bridge over the Odai River which cuts right through the middle of the city, watching the sun go down and light up the city stonework in red hues. I cannot see, but I can still hear the bustle of the marketplace by the gate, the most active trade center I've seen yet. I must have visited every shop, and I sold every scrap of herb I gathered on the way here. I've over three hundred septims now and spared a few to buy books on Vvardenfell and Balmora so I am not always asking people questions that make them look at me like I'm an imbecile.

The people of Balmora are friendly enough, though I can see in the eyes of my fellow Dunmer, they can tell, they know I am an Outlander. They see it in my gait, hear it in my accent. One particularly honest shopkeep warned me that in most of Morrowind, being a foreign-born Dunmer is worse than being of foreign blood entirely.

It is still better than being in prison. I will simply have to work harder than most to prove myself.

The Imperials, however, are not through with me as I had hoped. Upon finding the Caius Cosades the package was addressed to, before I could even realize what had happened, I was inducted into the service of the Blades by the Emperor's direct order. I was given little chance to object, and feared returning to prison if I did. Now that I have tasted freedom, if I must sacrifice a little time and effort to retain that, I will without hesitation.

All I must do is follow his orders, of which he has only given me one so far: join an organization. There are many recruiting, but the only ones that sound of any appeal to me are the Fighter's Guild and the Temple. When I explained to Caius I was divided between the two, his answer was, why not join both? A fair point. The Fighter's Guild would hone my skills with the sword and shield, and the Temple would give me some education and a connection to my people, who I have never known.

Tonight I rest, and tomorrow I will seek out representatives of both and see what is required.


	3. 19-20 Last Seed, 3E426

**19 Last Seed, 3E426**

I had Caius wake me early enough so that I could enjoy the sunrise over the city- what a sight it was. The light grew and grew until finally the sun broke over the pointed ruins in the distance...

Eydis Fire-Eye, a Nord woman with a most befitting name and Steward of the Balmora Fighters' Guild took one look at me and accepted me into the ranks. I was given a set of steel armor, far superior to the iron I'd been using, and spent the day proving myself worthy of it- first taking care of a few rats for a Dunmer woman with an unhealthy pillow obsession (the woman literally had hundreds), and then taking out two egg poachers at one of the local egg mines. The mines hold high importance on Vvardenfell, providing work and food for a large percentage of the island's residents, or so I am told.

When I think on it, nearly everything I have eaten since I arrived was some sort of spin on kwama eggs. I suppose it is a reliable food source for people in such an inhospitable land- though I confess I have yet to see the 'hostility' of this place that I so often hear about.

I've over 500 septims in my pocket and have been named Journeyman of the Fighters' Guild for taking on two opponents at once. And tomorrow, I visit that strange-looking building on the edge of town, the Temple, and attempt to forge some kind of connection with the religion of my people, whose gods I cannot even yet name.

* * *

**20 Last Seed, 4E326**

At first I was disappointed to wake to a clouded sky, as that meant there would be no sunrise. I wandered Balmora's streets pondering the greyness when it began to rain heavily. I saw many run for shelter; but I simply stood there in the rain, letting it soak my hair and clothes, likely seeming mad. I am sure it would have been worse if they could have seen the few tears I shed, but the rainwater disguised them. I had seen rain before, but only through a tiny window too high to reach. I knew its sound. And now I know its feel.

I did my best to squeeze the water from my hair before I stepped into the Temple, but by their disdainful looks I know I did not do a very good job. The building itself was dim and strange and sort of frightening, and the priests suspicious of me. Some of the candles produced not golden but red and even violet flames. It was here I was taught about the Tribunal, great heroes of ancient times that ascended to godhood, patrons of my people. Their other name, ALMSIVI, helps one remember their individual names:

Almalexia, the Healing Mother,  
Sotha Sil, the Light of Knowledge,  
Vivec, the Warrior-Poet.

I was told that every aspiring member of the Temple undertakes a pilgrimage; my heart leaps at the opportunity to travel more. As fond as I am becoming of Balmora there is still much I have not seen. This book I was given, The Pilgrim's Path, details the route quite fully.

I have an assignment from the Fighters' Guild to investigate some strange rumors surrounding some off-job thieves at Caldera's ebony mine. I tried to get Eydis to assign it to someone else, explaining the pilgrimage I am being sent on and she merely chuckled. I'd find a free moment to take care of it, she said dismissively, and when I had I could come back. Of all the mercenary organizations, it would seem I have picked one of the most laid-back.

Finding the first landmark, the Shrine of Humility, was simple enough. It was nearly due east from town along the northern bank of a lake. According to the book, it was here that Vivec met a farmer whose guar had died. He could not harvest the muck without his guar, and if he could not harvest then he could not feed his family. Lord Vivec then removed his fineries and worked like a beast to harvest the muck with his own hands until the sun went down, so here I left an offering of muck in reverence of that Humility.

Feeling light as a feather afterward, I stopped in Pelagiad's pleasant Halfway Tavern for the night. Tomorrow it is on to see the grand Vivec City I have heard so much about.

 


	4. 21-25 Last Seed, 3E426

**21 Last Seed, 3E426**

On the road to Vivec City, I met a strange highwayman who seemed surprised I did not know his name. When my hand went to my sword-hilt to defend myself against robbery, he smiled and tried to calm me, saying he did not want my gold or steel; only a kiss. Of all things! I couldn't come up with a good reason to say no, so I went through with it... and it wasn't bad. He then took off north down the road, opposite my way, and requested to meet me in Pelagiad someday.

Of course, I double-checked my purse afterwards. Strangely enough everything was still there. What's his game?

Soon enough it'd left my mind, for I finally saw it. Vivec City. What a sight. I did not know such large cities could even exist! Everything about the place screams grandeur. Each district, or canton, is its own colossal building with many levels within containing shops, services, homes, guild halls, Great House council halls, smaller Temples as well as the grand temple in the High Fane with shrines to every Saint, and one district even holds an Arena.

I visited the Shrine of Daring in the Temple canton, where Vivec won the service of the Oblivion moon Baar Dau, which is now the floating Ministry of Truth, and stopped it from crashing into Tamriel. I left the potion offering I purchased in the Temple, as is custom, and when I turned to walk away... I realized my feet had left the ground! Gleeful, I floated about for at least an hour, and then, worried, found a Temple priestess to ask when I might be allowed to come back down. She laughed and said to wait it out, the blessings last half a day or so before their magic fades.

Next was the Shrine of Generosity, the offering a simple one hundred gold pieces. It is here that, after Dagoth Ur's defeat in the First Era at the hands of the Tribunal, the people wished to build a monument to the heroes of that war. But Lord Vivec, while grateful, said the monument should be to all who suffered and fought and died, great and small, and so offerings became the custom here.

Tomorrow I will seek out the Shrine of Courtesy within the labyrinth below Vivec's palace. I am glad I read the book cover to cover beforehand, and know to bring a silver sword...

I do not know what, but something is giving me a sense of dread.

* * *

**22 Last Seed, 3E426**

Someone wants me dead, but whoever they are, they need to hire more competent assassins.

I was attacked by a member of the Dark Brotherhood in the middle of the night, at least that is what the Ordinators identified him as, after they took their sweet time responding to the sound of our fight. By the time they opened the door I was standing over a corpse, catching my breath and wiping my blade clean. I let them drag him off, but not before swiping the purse he had on him. A thousand septims, and gems that the next morning sold for another thousand. All mine by right of conquest. Ha! I welcome more assassins in that case. I could use the gold.

After tending the scratches the assassin managed to place and working out a dent in my steel I caught a few more hours sleep. When dawn broke I made for the Palace and into the Puzzle Canal below it. I was promptly lost. But I persisted, thankful I'd brought along a few strips of dried meat to eat and after nearly an entire day, I found my way into the center of the place and to the Shrine of Courtesy.

This place honors the Courtesy of Lord Vivec when he faced Mehrunes Dagon and gave the Daedric Lord his blade so that he would not be unarmed. So impressed were Dagon's servants, the Dremora, by this act, that they retain a respect for the Tribunal to the present day though they be enemies. I presented the silver sword I purchased earlier to the Dremora tending the shrine in remembrance of this act, and when I left the Canal for the fresh air at last, the stars shone overhead.

So exhausted was I from being lost so long in the Canal that I was unable to write a log before falling into bed, so I write this entry on the morning after instead, the dawn 23 of Last Seed, preparing to take the long trek north to Gnisis for the next part of my pilgrimage.

* * *

**24 Last Seed, 3E426**

Yesterday was spent on the road and I made it to Caldera, where I fulfilled my Fighters' Guild assignment by tracking down the thieves at the ebony mine. They weren't too hard to find: once I took out the one they put outside to act as a scout I found the rest huddled in a hole like rats. Though I can't help but wonder what exactly was going on. I feel I was given precious little information for a mission that took four lives.

Seems this pilgrimage is having some positive influence on me after all. Besides concerns like these, I find myself unable to turn down requests for favors or odd jobs if they are not too far out of my way. Thanks to one of these, a delivery specifically, I found myself taking a slight detour on the road to Gnisis to stop at Ald'ruhn.

Every building here is in the traditional Dunmer style. The entirety of the noble district is housed in the shell of an ancient, colossal crab. One can even see the legendary Ghostfence in the distance, surrounding Red Mountain. I'm sure I am showing my true Outlander colors more than usual by being so fascinated with something that to the rest of them is commonplace. It's getting more and more difficult to not react with sadness or annoyance when I catch those disdainful looks, those condescending smirks... it is not as if I can help it! I am treated like I rejected Dunmer culture but I was never given the chance to know it!

Patience, patience, Adarise... a stranger has no way to know these things. A stranger knows what he sees. Carry your head high and they will see your dignity too.

By the time I got here the sun had already crossed the apex of the sky and the creatures I am encountering in the wilderness grow more dangerous, so I am taking this evening off. I hope to reach Gnisis before tomorrow noon.


	5. 25-28 Last Seed, 3E426

**25 Last Seed, 3E426**

I left at dawn, and am glad I waited till light to do so. Some of the creatures I encountered out there seemed... somewhat less than healthy, hardly surprising when one looks at the harsh ashland waste they live in. Predatory nix-hounds and kagouti, both strong and agile beasts, will attack nearly anything they see and I often barely drew my sword in time, so easy is it to be ambushed in the fog.

Thanks to the creatures and weather I arrived in Gnisis later than I would have liked to. There isn't much to the place aside from a few traders, some Imperial Legion, and the Temple itself.

The Shrine of Justice was within this temple, where Vivec led the refugees of Dagoth Ur's ash blight. When he awoke to see that he and his followers had been encased in ash, and he was unable to move, he shed divine tears that broke him free. He was then able to breathe life into and revive his followers. I left a potion as an offering...

The second-to-last leg of my pilgrimage starts at next dawn.

* * *

**26 Last Seed, 3E426**

Visited the Shrine of Valor in a cave south of Gnisis, where Lord Vivec is said to have defeated the father of the dreugh and spared his life, and left an offering of wax. The rest of the day was uneventful, backtracking along the road to Ald'ruhn, which I barely reached before dark.

Not a single merchant in this town seems to carry soul gems, and I will need one for the final shrine...

* * *

**28 Last Seed, 3E426**

Thank you, Caldera Guild of Mages. Your price was high, but you had the soul gem I needed for my offering.

After swinging through Balmora to report to Eydis and collect my pay, it was off to follow the volcanic ravine that the locals use as a road to a place called Ghostgate. I stayed in the Temple there overnight, despite it being rather noisy and little more than a fort slapped onto part of the Ghostfence. A dull, yet dangerous road where one cannot travel more than an hour without being swooped at by cliff racers, all leading up to an inhospitable nightmarish land called Red Mountain.

Up until now, I thought all the tales were stretching the truth at best and lying at worst. Surely a place that was beset by constant storms, never seeing sunlight, could not exist. And it did not seem so bad outside the fence when I arrived: not pleasant, but not horrible.

I could not have expected what happened when I pressed the button to pass through those gates. Red. I could see nothing but red. And seconds after that I could not see at all for the volcanic ash in my eyes. Harsh winds blew and shifted direction capriciously. I could even hear the dust pelting my armor and shield. I dragged myself to the Shrine of Pride, a monument to my people's undying spirit and pride, left my soul gem, and dragged myself right back outside that fence.

I made it back to Balmora despite feeling horrid for hours after getting out of the ash, and I've had the Temple healers take a look at me to make sure I didn't catch anything. I suspect it might take until dawn or later to get all the ash and dust out of my armor.

If nothing else, I am an Initiate of the Tribunal Temple now, and that much closer to being connected with my people.


	6. 30-31 Last Seed, 3E426

**30 Last Seed, 3E426**

Yesterday was mostly uneventful, save the appearance of yet another assassin. This one was more skilled, however, and his coin-purse was lighter, much to my annoyance. I gave the necessary tiresome report to the Hlaalu guard, who seemed to think my sentence was set; "I don't know who you upset, but stay away from me."

That day was spent from sunrise to sundown in the Fighter's Guild's training room, at first with Fasile Charascel, a Breton with exemplary knowledge of how to handle a shield properly, even one as large as mine was. I miss that shield... but I'll get to that in a moment. The evening was spent with Wayn, the Redguard smith, smoothing out the dents said shield had acquired during training, him passing some of his masterful technique to me. Neither were much for conversation but were methodical, patient teachers.  
The Master of the Temple in Balmora had spoken of some need at the Temple in Molag Mar, a city to the east, so I set out, not knowing what I was about to get into.

Molag Amur is a desolate volcanic region of rocks and charred skeletons of trees. Vegetation was sparse, and most plants I encountered were withered or scorched. I even encountered open pits of magma. Sometimes I could catch sight of strange, ancient-looking complexes in the distance, but I dared not stray from the road. Even on its relative safety, there were nix-hounds and cliff racers everywhere, many appearing sickly or worse.

And then, while I had my eyes turned skyward, blocking a cliff racer's dive with my shield, I felt a sting on my leg. Hours before I'd lost some of the plating on my right boot from a bad fall, and I looked down to see a rat latched onto me by its teeth, gone all the way through the leather to the skin. I pierced the creature and it fell, dead, and then turned to finish off the cliff racer.

Once the battle was over, I already knew something was wrong by the sheer amount of pain my ankle was in. I could barely move it. I had a look at the rat. It was completely manged; the skin reddish and covered in lesions, the fur almost gone completely. During this I felt the world spin. I collapsed to my hands and knees. This did not feel like poison, nor any of the sicknesses I experienced in my youth in the prisons. It felt far, far worse.

But I could not simply lie there. I was not given freedom so that I could die within a fortnight. Pain blossomed out from my wound yet I used my sword to pull myself to my feet. A few steps was all it took to know the uncomfortable truth that I could never make it to Molag Mar with this heavy armor encumbering my sick body. Settling back down, carefully, I proceeded to remove my pauldrons, greaves, and my shield and stowed them behind a rock just off the road.

Load lightened, I was able to keep moving. Eventually I was forced to stow my spare blade as well, hiding it like I'd hidden the rest of my armor.

Luckily, I was spotted just as I managed to get inside the city. The people steered clear of me, and I don't blame them, but the Temple had a potion ready for me as soon as I was at their door and quite immediately poured it down my throat and put me to bed.

After an hour of fevers and passing in and out of consciousness, it was explained to me that I'd contracted something known as the Black-Heart Blight, a variety of Blight disease that one only gets from coming into contact with blighted creatures in these volcanic regions. It drains the strength of those it infects until they've none left. The potion, of course, had cured me... and I was scolded for not being better prepared, a scolding I took willingly. It is my own fault. I did not take the tales of these places seriously enough, and learned a harsh lesson for it.

Though cured, I am still exhausted, so I will let my body recover with sleep before venturing back from whence I came tomorrow to see if my armor can be recovered.

 

* * *

**31 Last Seed, 3E426**

I woke up much later than usual, body still worn out from recovery, to the sound of the wind howling outside the Temple. I got up, deciding to hold off on putting all my armor on until I'd found out what it was, and by Almsivi was I glad that I did.

Ash so thick I could barely see in my outstretched hand blew over the open-air top tier of the Molag Mar compound. Aside from the dangerous creatures and hostile Ashlander tribesmen, it is a wonder any choose to live here at all. A good bit of the city is enclosed completely indoors with good reason. Not many commoners here; most of the people are here for reasons relating to the Temple or House Redoran and few seem happy about it. I can't blame them. I've just arrived and already want to leave.

They say the ash storms get worse this time of year, when summer is giving way to autumn the winds pick up. Many were amused to hear this is the first of these storms I'd seen outside of Red Mountain itself, and that I only visited briefly. I was advised against travel, as the storms are said to carry the Blight from the mountain far on the wind and drive the creatures of the wilderness into unnatural frenzies.

As much as it pains me, I have decided to consider the armor I was forced to leave behind lost. It is too dangerous to retrieve it, particularly while wearing half a set of armor. Not that I would be able to find it anyway among the dangers, the low visibility, and the very high chance that it's all been buried in ash. My memory between being bitten by the rat and my arrival at Molag Mar is hazy on top of all that. At the least, they served me well, and they were merely material items.

Instead I went to see, on local recommendation, a smith affiliated with House Redoran. To replace the pieces, including my spare sword cost me about six hundred septims, or what it would've cost me to buy my own room and board for an entire month. Ouch. On the outside it looks like sturdy enough steel, but until I put it to the test, I won't know if I got my money's worth... not that I had a choice.

At least I have the Temple for that, in what settlements they've managed to establish in. They don't have terribly much for me to do here aside from typical initiate work like running errands for them and organizing reagents, but it's oddly relaxing. Plus, it keeps me inside, out of that horrible storm.

The only complaints I really have are that there's nothing to eat but kwama eggs and saltrice and I am nothing short of horrible at the Restoration arts the Master is trying to get me to practice. With a sword in my hand I'm pretty decent at taking things apart, but putting them back together with magic isn't really my calling.


	7. 3-4 Hearthfire, 3E426

**3 Hearthfire, 3E426**

The past three days were spent under the oppressive winds of the ash storm. No one came to or left the city, no one could. I don't think I ever saw it so much as let up the entire time. The first day it seemed Molag Mar's residents held to the same hope I did that the storm would abate any moment, carefully going about with brooms to keep ash from piling up against walls and doorways. By the second and third they only came out every few hours to clear their doorways, not bothering with the rest. It is surprising, the speed at which the stuff can pile up, and gives me very little hope of recovering the armor I left behind.

Essentially trapped in Molag Mar, I kept my sanity by jogging in circles around the inner waistworks, reading the bizarre and confusing books on the Temple's shelves, and completely failing to grasp Restoration magic. I kept my ink and quill put away to keep from rambling on these pages in boredom. Luckily, I still have a rather decent coinpurse on me, and since we were all bored and trapped in the same town there was always someone to drink with.

Today I was awoken before dawn by Saras, the healer, who said the Temple Master wished to see me. I noted on my way up that I did not hear the howling winds of the past days. As it would turn out, the ash storm had let up, and the Master wished me to travel north to a Telvanni wizard tower called Tel Mora and seek a woman named Lette who had contracted Swamp Fever. There are no roads or services that far northeast on Vvardenfell, and no Temple for her to seek healing. I think my jaw dropped a little when he pointed out the location on the map. It will be the farthest I have ever gone.

Not wishing the ashstorms to lock me back in Molag Mar, I set out immediately after receiving my orders and checking my supplies. Since there are no roads, and Tel Mora lies on the sea, I decided my best option was to pick along the coast. The shores have ready supplies of mudcrab and slaughterfish to eat, stream deltas and therefore fresh water, and clams for both food and potentially pearls.

A few hours into my trek down the rocky coast, most pleased to be seeing the sun again after days of nothing but ash, I came over a hill to find three Dunmer women standing around a campfire. Having gathered some crab legs and fish the prospect of cooking them sounded wondrous so I made myself known, hoping they'd share space in their circle.

They didn't hesitate. Two had their weapons out instantly and the other one started casting a spell that I barely dodged, shouting "N'wah!" at me, a term I understand to be quite offensive. Nor did I hesitate. They're all dead on the ground, who's the n'wah now? Hah!

Strange clothes, strange ornaments... I soon realized my mistake. I'd forgotten about the warning I'd been given, about the Ashlanders and how hostile they were even to their fellow Morrowind natives, let alone some s'wit who comes plodding along speaking in their Outlander accent and wearing foreign armor. Either way, I took their camp and their fresh water and am settled down here for the evening to rest and repair my steel. Who knew an axe made of chitin could do so much damage?

It's to be my first night sleeping in open wilderness, and I could not have picked a better location. A good campfire already done up for me, corpses dragged far away enough that scavengers won't mistake me for dessert, the salty tinge to the air, the silhouette of a magnificent spired ruin against the stars in the distance, and the first meal I've had in days with actual meat in it. When dawn breaks, it will be over the sea. I could ask for little more.

* * *

****4 Hearthfire, 3E426** **

When the sun awoke me I rose, feeling a bit stiffer than I would if I'd slept in a tavern but also far more invigorated. I spent the morning picking along the rocky coast, stopping for a wash at the first freshwater rivulet I encountered when I realized I smelled like a combination of fish and adrenaline sweat from the previous day's meal and fight. Hardly the way one wants to arrive at a Telvanni tower... I think. I have yet to visit one, though I can see it from where I am...

Ah, yes, back to recounting. The landscape began to change around noon, shifting from the rocky shorelines dotted in small white flowers to sandy beaches lush with wild saltrice and green marshmerrow stalks. Further inland it was all tall grasses and wickwheat, and strange trees. Some were tall, thin, with large fanned out leaves... others were ten times as thick but just as tall, with little sprigs of smaller leaves adorning the top. I got the feeling from the latter sort that they were very old.

But I didn't see the very strangest trees until night had fallen. I kept moving because I saw the lights of a settlement in the distance, though cautiously in case it turned out to be more Ashlanders. Thank Almsivi, it was not. It was Vos, a farming town for the most part with a curious mushroom... tree... building... structure serving as a tradehouse and inn. I haven't the faintest what to call it. The publican said the Telvanni wizards could actually grow these buildings with their magic. The more I hear of these Telvanni... of their magical prowess, of their disdain for politics, their isolationism, and how some of them are said to be over a thousand years old... the less I want to meet one.


	8. 5-7 Hearthfire, 3E426

**5 Hearthfire, 3E426**

Tel Mora lay just across the water from Vos, so I rented a boat to take me across when morning came. "Just you, sera?" The gondolier asked me, looking around strangely.

"Yes, why?" I asked. She went on to explain that men were not exactly welcome in Tel Mora, as the Telvanni sorceress in charge of the place has great disdain for them. The rest of the short boat ride was carried out in awkward silence, as I had no idea how to respond to that, except to make a mental note to just attend to my business here and leave.

Fortunately Lette was easy to find, wandering deliriously on the northern shore, avoiding her fellow residents for fear of spreading her illness. I gave her the potion I'd brought and she stumbled over her words trying to thank me. It only worsened when she learned I'd come all the way from Molag Mar. I am not used to being spoken to this way, so I tried to think of what the Temple Master would say, or what Lord Vivec himself might say...

Ultimately I said, "If you are truly grateful, then help those who are in need as you once were." Lette said she would do her best. Yes... doing kindnesses should not be to glorify oneself, but for the uplift of all who are downtrodden. Almsivi teaches us to be charitable for its own sake.

As I was leaving I was pulled into a shop quite by surprise. When I spun to turn my sword on my assailant, she shrieked, explaining that she just wanted my help since I looked strong enough. I held my tongue, trying not to ask what kind of s'wit accomplishes this with near-assault. I didn't need to say much, hyperactive little Wood Elf took me up the stairs and pointed me right at the problem.

I think it was a person once, though the body was in such horrible condition that I couldn't even tell if it had been man or elf. But it was a person only in vague likeness. It groaned like a beast and both smelled and looked as if it had been rotting for days in the sun, and somehow the Bosmer woman had managed to box it in with crates. Afraid to even get close, I swung at it over the crates. It didn't take much to take it down. I advised her to have what was left of it incinerated. "Of course," she replied, "I don't want to get Corprus."

So that is what Corprus does. What a horrible fate. That mindless creature was indeed a person once. It is much to think about on the trek back to Molag Mar.

 

* * *

**6 Hearthfire, 3E426**

More ash storms, this time starting just after noon when I was merely an hour or so away from Molag Mar, turning the trip into a most disagreeable two hours. When I'd gotten back and washed all the ash from my hair and armor I reported back to Master Rotheloth in the Temple about Lette. He seemed most pleased with my explanation of the events, said I was learning a lot in a very short time.

A letter had come by courier for me during the clear days I was out, bearing the seal of the Empire. I know not what to make of the fact that it had been quite obviously opened before I received it, and I dare not bring it up for fear of losing whatever favor I just gained. The contents were harmless: Caius Cosades simply requesting my presence in Balmora for a meeting.

I spent the rest of the day reflecting on the things I had seen and done at Tel Mora, the same dread from days and days ago resurfacing occasionally.

 

* * *

**7 Hearthfire 3E426**

In the morning the ash storms gave way to a simple cloudy sky and I set out for Balmora, prepared this time with potions from the Temple. Two for common diseases, two for blight diseases, one of which I had to use when I had the back of my fingers sliced open by a shalk beetle. One look at that creature and one moment to feel that familiar horridness start to sink in and I had the potion downed. The awfulness subsided. I do not wish to experience that again.

Rather than go straight to Caius, I stopped in at the Fighter's Guild to spend some time sharing tales with fellow warriors... now that I have a few. The evening passed by quickly with the aid of bottles of good Cyrodilic Brandy, good company, and tales of Skyrim's snowy mountains, Elsweyr's vast deserts, and the jungles of Valenwood.

 


	9. 8 Hearthfire, 3E426

**8 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I got up late this morning with a dry throat and a headache that pounded whenever I moved. I drank all that was left in my water-skin, went outside and refilled it, and drank all that too... and then promptly threw it up. An hour or so of repeating this cycle and then a very good wash later I finally felt good enough to go see Caius. The headache wasn't totally gone, but I finally felt myself again... I should be careful about drinking so much. Liquor is still something my body hasn't learned to tolerate properly.

He has me gathering information on some kind of native cult that I'd only heard about in passing before. The Temple strictly forbids them so I personally didn't know much about it, and I do hope that they don't find it in complete heresy that I'm researching this at all. I could be dragged to the Ministry of Truth for re-education if they suspect I have anything to do with the cult of the Nerevarine. The thought of being imprisoned all over again makes my stomach turn and my heart sink. But if I don't follow Caius's orders, the Empire will just lock me up all the same.

I suppose the best plan I can think of is follow my orders, get Caius the information he wants, and then wash my hands of the entire thing. Worst comes to worst, I could always try to flee into the wilderness... what am I thinking! Almsivi save me. I must get hold of myself.

Caius sent me to see my Drillmaster at the Fighter's Guild for information. I knew the man was somewhat of a historian by his fondness for old legends, but what connection could he have to this heretical cult?

Information worth having is never really free, something I knew in prison that holds true in the outside world too. He asked for a particular relic of the long-since vanished Dwemer and pointed me to the spired ruin I'd seen a few times on my way in and out of Balmora, named Arkngthand. And what a strange place that was! Metallic walls, lined with lights in tubes that didn't seem to be flame and emitted a faint buzzing sound. Many of the coppery machines, though I'd no idea what they were supposed to be doing, appeared to still be working even after thousands of years without their masters.

The only occupants were a few bandits and fetchers whose martial skills were laughable at best. I happened upon their hoard; a handful of Dwemer coins (confirmed by an appraiser in Balmora), gems, and scraps of raw ebony and glass- some of the rarest, finest materials known. I spent a while inspecting the chunk of ebony; what I wouldn't give to have an entire set of armor made of that stuff! And they'd actually found the Puzzle Cube that Drillmaster Hasphat sent me after for me. How nice of them. They'd made the hunt so simple I was back in Balmora before the sun went down.

Pleased with his trinket, Hasphat sat down with me, offered me a drink which I tried to refuse without gagging, and started to talk. First, to my relief, I was given a little background. The points I can recall:

Morrowind was known as Resdayn in ancient times, when it was established by the Prophet Veloth and the exiled Altmer who were the predecessors of the Dunmer. They were constantly beset by wars with Nords, and practiced ancestor worship. Resdayn was the last of the provinces to surrender to Tiber Septim's Empire, a truce Lord Vivec made personally, around four hundred years ago. Vvardenfell itself was a Temple preserve until just twelve years ago, when it was opened for settlement, the land divided up between Houses Hlaalu, Telvanni and Redoran and the Temple.

It is being said that the Temple is in decline, evidenced by blighted creatures and ash storms escaping the confines of the Ghostfence around Red Mountain. The Empire has been considering evacuating all of Vvardenfell District if it continues to get worse. This is only being aggravated by infighting between Great Houses, Ashlander tribal wars, and struggle between the Temple and the Dissident Priests who support the Nerevarine cult. And then I learned of the ancient traitor, Dagoth Ur, whose very name makes me feel cold to the bone. The once-trusted friend of the Tribunal who sought the power beneath the Mountain for himself and now sends the ash and blight to plague all of Morrowind.

I am no scholar. I do not know what to make of it all, it's not my job to interpret this information but to deliver it to my Blades superior. Which I promptly did, only to be sent out for more information. Caius was not satisfied. My Drillmaster knew a good deal about the lost Sixth House, House Dagoth, and their betrayal in the First Era, but not very much about the Nerevarine cult. I spoke up this time, asking if he was just trying to get me in trouble with the Temple, to which he replied I shouldn't if I keep my head down and only talk to the people he sends me to, people he can trust.

Speaking of trouble with the Temple, this so trusted Mages' Guild associate of his turned out to be an open Necromancer (of all vile things) who wants me to retrieve some poor fetcher's skull right out of his tomb. Trying to keep my voice down I gritted my teeth and refused. I was absolutely disgusted, and the Temple would be absolutely disgusted with me, with good reason.

That is how I learned Orcs do not bargain easily. She seized my armor fearlessly, despite being only glad in a robe and me with my hand on my sword-hilt, and pulled my face nearly to hers, staring right into my eyes. "Get the skull," she demanded in a low voice, trying as I was to avoid attracting the attention of her associates, "And you get your information. No skull, no talk." And then shoved me away. With only a hard stare and not another word, I left.

Since I was in no mood to deal with other people after that, especially not Caius, I put down the coin for a room in the inn tonight so I can get a little space to breathe and collect myself. I suppose I have no choice but to do it, as usual. I need that information to ensure I can continue enjoying sunlight and fresh air. I am starting to question how much freedom I actually have with people like Caius Cosades pulling my puppet-strings. It is getting quite late, though, and I've got to go break my moral code tomorrow. How fun.

 


	10. 9 Hearthfire, 3E426

**9 Hearthfire, 3E426**

A deep bell was chiming.

_"Omnipresent... omniscient... sovereign... immutable..."_

The pain was unimaginable, as if my very blood and the air I struggled to breathe were poisoned. I saw naught but blackness...

_"How sweet it is to be a God."_

Then I awoke, alone in my room, and suddenly I could not stand the darkness. The tavern-goers that were still at their tables must have thought me mad as I fled out the door into the street, thankful for the moons and stars and street-lamps. It's not a question of going back to sleep. I know I can't. Even though I'm back in my room with no less than three lit lanterns now I'll get no more rest tonight.

I suppose it is time I break my promise I made to myself not to write about my past, if only to address the questions in my head. This is not the first of the strange nightmares I've had, though it is the first I've had since my freedom. I had hoped they were just a side effect of being imprisoned, hoped that they were gone for good now that I was out. In fact, I am not ready to rule out that this dream is merely a reflection of my fear of being locked up again by either the Imperials or my own people. My anxiety about that was laid bare in previous pages.

I had heard the bell before, but not the Voice. In past dreams sometimes I would hear lightning and thunder, and words being spoken in tongues I did not understand, but the voices were lighter, friendlier, not the horrible one I had just heard. Just as tonight, I would wake in the same sheen of cold sweat, shivering no matter what the temperature was, my forehead feverish and my beddings in chaos.

I cannot stop looking over my shoulder, checking down the corridor, glancing to see if my sword still rests on the bed, and writing about my troubles is not giving me the solace I desired. I shall go to the Temple instead, and see if prayer gives me any peace.

* * *

When it became light outside I ventured off and to the tomb with little incident. Nothing in there but the odd ghost, thankfully I have the foresight to keep a sword made of silver around. Little else of physical form can hurt them. I feel disgusted with myself for grave-robbing, and somehow doubt it will be made worth the loss of dignity.

I got back to Balmora as the stars were coming out with the skull placed in a sack to keep it out of sight and gave it to the Orc. She proceeded to ramble on about a few things I already knew from the Temple. Saint Nerevar was a great hero and general of ancient times who helped unite his people, and died from battle-wounds after defeating Dagoth Ur.

It is now clear why this Nerevarine Cult is outlawed by both the Temple and Empire. It speaks of a prophecy in which Nerevar is reborn, unites the Dunmer people, casts down the Tribunal as false gods and drives out all the outlanders. That is all that is really known, however; much of the prophecy only carries on in Ashlander oral tradition because of the outlawing of the cult and subsequent confiscation and destruction of their written materials. With the Orc's notes, I left the Mages' Guild preparing to go see Caius and report.

As I was closing the door behind me and stepping out into the street, there was a man standing in my way. I had seen him before, felt rather sure he was a local resident, just not one I'd spoken to before. And he was staring at me with the strangest smile on his face, and wouldn't move. I tried to go around him and he merely moved to obstruct me again.

"Pardon me, sera," I tried. No reply. I made to move the other way and again he followed, still grinning at me like a s'wit. Unamused I made to push him aside, and that was when he finally spoke.

"Dagoth Ur calls you, Adarise. All shall greet him as flesh or dust."

At that I shoved him away, the feeling I had when I awoke from my last nightmare creeping through me. I didn't look back, just walking as briskly as I could without looking as frenzied as I felt. Instead of reporting I just rented a room and locked myself in to write, to think, and to wonder if I am going to be able to sleep tonight.

 


	11. 10-13 Hearthfire, 3E426

**10 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I quite disdainfully gave Caius his notes, and he gave me my space, saying he needed time to report back to his superiors and why don't I go travel for a while and cool off.

Mistress Sadri had recommended a Temple pilgrimage to Mount Kand the last time I was in those halls, seeking to soothe my anxieties with prayer. I dared not tell her the things that dwelt in my mind, pretty sure I've committed some level of heresy just looking into these blasphemies. Like my time in prison, I just wish to put it behind me now and move forward in good faith.

I stopped by the bookseller's before I left Balmora to see if they had a copy of the book of riddles she'd mentioned. The cave I am going to is guarded by three daedra whose riddles I must answer correctly, or defeat them in battle. Not that I don't have confidence in my sword, but a wise warrior knows when it is better to avoid a fight altogether. It is just needless risk. Having not as much confidence in my mental capacities, I'm glad to have the answers handed to me for the mere cost of a book.

While I was there another tome caught my eye; "Vivec and Mephala", which I shelled out the coin to purchase as well. I didn't get the chance to read it until I settled down in Molag Mar tonight. It had the usual quotes and scripture about Mephala, Daedric Prince of murder, sex and secrets, being the Anticipation of Vivec, a sort of tie to the darker side of Lord Vivec's divine dualistic nature. However, the last paragraphs were the most intriguing.

It spoke in vague terms of the Ashlander legend that the death of Saint Nerevar according to the Temple is a lie: in their tradition, he was slain by the conspiracy of Vivec along with Almalexia and Sotha Sil. It seems nonsense to me, personally. Why would they have slain their own revered Hortator and champion? What could they possibly have gained from such needless treachery?

My pilgrimage went well. Mount Kand was a steep climb, but I am able to endure such things easily. And thank Almsivi for that book, I would have gotten every answer wrong if left to my own devices. I do not pretend to be a scholar.

Reporting in at Molag Mar, I was told that a nearby tomb had been sacrileged; the culprit none other than a Necromancer living on the coast nearby who had been simply tolerated up until he overstepped his bounds. They gave me a physical description of this Delvam Andarys and told me to "permanently take care of the situation". I more than gladly accepted, leaping upon my chance to redeem myself for committing a similar sin. Even though no one besides myself and the Orc know I did it, and I was acting under orders I could not refute, the burden is upon my own soul still... but tomorrow, redemption.

* * *

**11 Hearthfire, 3E426**

The 'hideout' was hardly hidden, a traditional Dunmer Velothi-style building on the coast with the curved stone walls and maroon detailing. But the creatures within made me thankful the Temple had forced me to learn at least a few spells for restoring one's strength, for the cursed, vile things could drain it before you know what was happening. Horrible constructs of flesh and splintered bone I don't care to ever see again. There were no negotiations. Andarys himself hid behind his behemoth abominations, but the man was about as easy to cut through as paper. He shall disrupt the spirits of Molag Amur's dead no more, and I feel I have paid my penance.

I took some of the fancy equipment in his little lair, which he'd done up quite expensively I might add, and sold it back in town for enough coin to buy a ring from a local enchanter with powerful healing properties- which I can confirm works very well and was worth every septim.

* * *

**13 Hearthfire, 3E426**

After a day of recovering and practicing the healing arts in the Temple, motivation fresh from my run-in with the Necromancer, I hit the road again, worried if I stayed too long in Molag Amur I'd get caught in another ash storm. The wind is starting to have a bit of a chill to it out in this rocky region as the seasons change, so I decided to revisit the grand city of Vivec, thinking perhaps there was more work to be had at the Temple there.

Around noon I found myself in Suran, a city I've only previously seen on my map. Doing a little shopping, I made a discovery about the moral state of that place that I don't really care to think on further... Note to self: never go into a place bearing the title "House of Earthly Delights". It did not, as I assumed, sell fruits and vegetables. Of course, I decided not to stick around after that and was on the road again.

Halfway between noon and sunset I arrived in the High Fane of Vivec, barely even tired so easy had my journey been as soon as I was out of the inhospitable Molag Amur. The Ascadian Isles are a paradise in comparison. And there I got the news that a pilgrim in the city was infected with Corprus. I related my tale about Tel Mora to the Temple Master, who explained that this woman had not reached that state yet and they did not want her killed, but wished her to voluntarily leave to go to a place called the Corprusarium.

It feels hypocritical of me to ask someone to voluntarily hand themselves over to be imprisoned, even if it is also a refuge and quarantine where she will be cared for. It was made even worse by how pleasant she seemed, one could mistake her for being entirely uninfected. But, as I am told, she will not stay that way for long, and there is nothing else that can be done. I used that compassionate personality, with a healthy dose of Temple scripture, to appeal to her better senses; she did not want to cause suffering to anyone else, and agreed to leave.

It would have made a most agreeable end to my evening, but before I turned in for the night I had another unpleasant encounter like the one in Balmora. This time it was a woman I am certain I have never seen before in my life, but somehow she knew my name.

"I am a Sleeper, one among thousands. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory."

So much for restful sleep.

 


	12. 14-15 Hearthfire, 3E426

**14 Hearthfire, 3E426**

It did not take Caius very long to call me back to Balmora, the letter was brought to me while I sat reading in the Temple's library this morning. The trip took longer than intended, however, because I ended up having to play guide for a lost pilgrim trying to get to the Fields of Kummu, but I welcomed the diversion in dread of what he wanted... even if she did walk slower than anyone I'd ever seen.

Yet by late afternoon I was out of excuses and distractions and paid him visit. Of course, he wants more information, and this time from contacts of his right in the city of Vivec. One of the people on his list was a name I already knew. Mehra Milo, I believe she is a priestess that tends to the great library there.

I have decided to tell anyone who asks why I am putting my nose into these matters that I am simply trying to discern right from wrong beliefs, and claim foreigner ignorance. To some degree that is all still truth. I am horribly confused.

* * *

**15 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I arrived in the city in the morning and began my search in the Foreign Quarter, my target an Argonian named Huleeya. I found him surrounded in the Cornerclub in what looked to be the precursors of a bad fight. The publican was quietly moving his glasswares out of reach of those involved. I hung back at first to listen, catching a string of curses and racial slurs and liberal use of the word 'lizard', and mocking inquiries into where his slavemaster was. They would not let him by, though he was trying to ignore them and be on his way.

Carefully I laid a hand on the shoulders of two of the three from behind, their attention was on me in a second. Smiling I kept my hands in their view to reassure them I was not reaching for my weapons, my voice stern as I asked them why they couldn't just let the poor fetcher by; after all, Almsivi teaches us to be graceful to others. Clad in full armor and speaking scriptures like an acolyte, I was something they did not want to trouble with, and they muttered and glowered at me as I gestured to Huleeya to follow.

I let him take the lead when we left the cornerclub and we rounded the inner street of the canton, him with a destination in mind. He first asked if I was with the Morag Tong, but I corrected him and dropped Caius's name as soon as another door had shut behind us. We were in the bookshop of his good friend, he said, and could speak freely. I inquired about the Sixth House and Nerevarine.

He knew nothing about the Sixth House, but said the Ashlanders have long held a grudge against the Great Houses for forcing them into increasingly inhospitable lands and denying their rights, a practice that began sometime after the death of Saint Nerevar. To them, a reborn Nerevar would lead them to regain equality with the rest of the Dunmer. The ages have seen many False Incarnates arise, the most recent being around thirty years ago, and they have all failed.

Next, to the Saint Olms canton to see the Khajiit Addhiranirr. Asking around along with a few carefully-placed bribes earned me the intel that she had been hiding from the Imperial tax agent, and she would be hard to find until I could send him away. Before I could find him, though, he found me, wandering in the canton's inner streets, pretending to be looking for his 'friend' Addhiranirr. "What a shame," I told him, "I just came back from bidding her farewell, she's taking a boat to the mainland." And he believed it. I'm pleased I haven't lost my quick imagination from my younger days...

Addhiranirr was pleased to have the tax collector off of her tail and spoke freely to me about what she knew of House Dagoth. Being a member of the Thieves' Guild, she is practiced in monitoring the flow of smuggled shipments in and out of Vvardenfell, and has recently noticed that many of the more prominent members of the illegal trades are shunning their usual customers in favor of a new, high-paying presence on the market. It is none other than the Sixth House, and they are paying double and triple the usual rates, but what they are smuggling is a mystery even to an underworld-experienced cat such as Addhiranirr. She finds this strange as they are usually a loud, bragging lot, but have suddenly gotten very quiet.

The last contact I was sent to meet with was Mehra Milo, the priestess in the Library of Vivec. From her I heard tales of Temple priests disappearing one by one to live in hiding, having come to question the Temple's methods and beliefs. Milo herself plans to go into hiding soon, saying that she fears the Temple ordinators are watching her. She only asked that before I judge for myself, I read a book entitled "Progress of Truth"... which would not only answer the questions she dared not answer where someone might overhear, but give Caius the information he's after. On my way out I recalled that Huleeya's friend that runs the bookstore has many rare tomes; he might be the place to look for a copy. I daren't take the one in the Temple. The Ordinators seem to be everywhere.

Sure enough, he did, but he expected me to pay the cost of five books for it, though I suspect some of that money is for the risk. Particularly after I read it. It outlined all the conflicts between Ashlander beliefs and the Temple in detail...

The Ashlanders bring into question the divinity of Almsivi. While the Temple taught me that the Tribunes came upon their divine power through a communal blessing of the ancestors and the Good Daedra in reward for their heroic acts, the tribesmen suspect something far more sinister and blasphemous. They even go so far as to say that the powers of Dagoth Ur and the Tribunal come from the same source, the unholy secrets of hell itself beneath Red Mountain. I question how such evil power could ever be bent to do the good works that Almsivi have done...

They also call into question the purity of Almsivi, pointing out inconsistencies between the sacred texts and accusing them of concealing the depth of power that Dagoth Ur wields. The Battle at Red Mountain is questioned most of all, saying the ancient enemy, the Dwemer, were destroyed by the powers they attempted to wield rather than falling at the hand of Saint Nerevar. It goes on to say that Nerevar left Dagoth Ur to guard the horrible, profane secrets of Red Mountain while he went to confer with the the Tribunes, who then murdered him and drove Dagoth Ur below the Mountain to take that power for themselves.

With so many conflicting stories, who even knows what to believe? If nothing else, the Ashlanders do not contest the rights of the Tribunes to be recognized as heroes and saints. They have, in fact, done much for their people. But even I wonder... why does the Temple persecute the Nerevarine cult so, if not for purely political reasons? What does a loving, charitable faith have to fear from people that do not think exactly as they do? Why be so heavy-handed if such things do not pose some kind of tangible threat? It would be as if I sought out a bee in a hive miles away and killed it for the chance it might one day give me a blister on my finger... the power unbalanced, the means and motives beyond what the threat presents.

Does even asking these questions make me one of them? A Dissident? A cultist, a heretic?

 


	13. 17-18 Hearthfire, 3E426

**17 Hearthfire, 3E426**

Tonight I am in Ald'ruhn, having passed through Balmora yesterday in some haste to give Caius his information and leave. I thought coming to the Temple here to think, pray and run small errands might calm me, so I pressed through darkness to get here although it was quite late by the time I passed through Caldera. I pushed on and made it here, only to catch perhaps a couple of hours of good sleep before another nightmare came to me.

This time I could see, yet I still could not move. Stone all around me and I was laid on some kind of altar. Candles encircled me like I was an offering. I could not pry my hands from their place crossed over my chest no matter how I tried... I was lying as if I had been placed for a funeral. Then a figure slid into my view, hovering over me, wearing a freakish golden mask.

"Who knows what we may be capable of when we no longer fear death," he spoke, and I recognized it as the same voice that had spoken in my dream... no, nightmare, before. Fingers that were more like claws grasped my chin.

"I will free the Dunmer from the Imperial yoke, and cast down the false gods of the Temple," he said, leaning close. "I will lead them out of their ancient superstition, and gift them with intimate knowledge of the Divine." And just as I was feeling the claw-fingers cut into me, I awoke.

Dawn was hours away but I could not take the dim lights and strange imagery of the temple anymore. When I approached the door and heard the howl of the wind I felt some dread, opening it to have my fears confirmed.

Ash storms, coupled with the darkness of night, made it so that I couldn't even see the neighboring buildings. The force of the wind was so strong this close to the Mountain that it ripped the door out of my hand and flung it wide. I shut the door again quite quickly but had already managed to let in all the ash that had piled up against it. Well, at least it was something to do. Treading carefully as to not wake anyone and fearing a scolding for the mess I spent the next couple of hours sweeping up every trace I could and dumping it in a clay pot used for refuse and spoiled food scraps. My dreams replayed vividly in my head the whole time and there was naught I could do to stop it.

The Temple was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and I needed better distraction than the books they had, most of which I had already read. So after lunch was had, I made my way through the blustering winds and ash to the Fighter's Guild... much more careful about opening doors. Thankfully most of my fellow warriors there felt just as stir-crazy as I did in the bad weather so for the rest of the day I was never lacking a good sparring partner or someone to talk technique with.

More than one of them commented that I seemed to have improved significantly since my last visit to which, I admit, I beamed. I don't feel the weight of my armor quite like I used to, my swings with my sword do not miss as often and I am able to put more power behind them, I am quicker to bring up my shield in defense. The land of Vvardenfell may be harsh, but I find like a good smith it is tempering me into a finer version of myself.

* * *

**18 Hearthfire, 3E426**

The ash storms let up overnight and when I left in the morning it was all swirling grey clouds overhead. I chose to let my curiosity get the best of me and approach the Ghostfence. Up close it was even taller than I'd thought, a series of brass-colored posts providing the framework for the shimmering, ethereal barrier. When I look hard enough, I think I can almost see _through_  it, not that there is much to see but rocks and dust. As I approached I could hear the persistent hum of magic and even closer I could feel it, lightly resonating in my teeth and bones but not painful or unpleasant, it just was.

It was a simple matter to follow the fence eastward and end up in Ghostgate before it was even noon. When I had previously visited on my pilgrimage to the shrine I hadn't stopped to read the books the Ordinators and Armigers kept there, so this time, I did. So I made up my mind to leave tomorrow and head back to the wonderful Ascadian Isles region, and settled in for a quiet night in the fortress.

There were some volumes of the Thirty-Six Sermons of Vivec lying around and I gave myself a headache trying to read them, so convoluted and strange they were. The words are confusing and the stories told in symbol and metaphor mixed in with truths and scripture. Though, perhaps, one needs to read all the volumes in order to understand them. I shall have to keep an eye out in bookstores from here on.

 


	14. 19-20 Hearthfire, 3E426

**19 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I arrived back in Balmora on a dull, grey afternoon and decided to finally put to use some of the coin I've been earning to use. It may have cost me something akin to three months' room and board, but having a good sword enchanted with ice in a fiery place like Vvardenfell, I feel, is a good investment. The mages told me it would take some time, so I decided a drink or two at the cornerclub while I waited wouldn't hurt.

I couldn't have been drinking for more than an hour when Rithleen came around. That nosy Caius somehow found out I was in town despite my just having arrived and sent her round to fetch me. I bought an extra drink for the meeting, to keep my temper of course...

While sipping comberry liquor I was informed that I was being sent to meet with an Ashlander trader that had settled in Ald'ruhn... biting my tongue to keep quiet when I was being told to go right where I had just been. Luckily, I didn't have to listen to the name or description. I'd seen the old man in the Ald Skar Inn before, always keeping to himself and his books, his manner of speech and the way he carried himself distinct enough that even a foreigner like myself noticed that he was set apart from his peers. He had one of those long, hard to pronounce Ashlander names... Hassour Zainsubani. I was advised to get him a gift to loosen his tongue and since I was still waiting on the mages, I dropped into the bookstore and bought a volume of Ashlander hymns, books being the only thing I've seen the old man enjoy.

As soon as my sword was ready to be picked up I was back on the road so I could be in Ald'ruhn before dark, even though it was a bit harder to walk straight than I liked. Perhaps the alcohol was messing with my mind, but I think I am starting to care about knowing the truth; I've seen too many contradictions, too many strange things, and put too much effort into all of this to just ignore it now.

* * *

**20 Hearthfire, 3E426**

It was easy enough to find Hassour in the Ald Skar, tucked away into a corner with his breakfast and his books. As I sat down across from him he started to politely ask me to seat myself elsewhere as he preferred a quiet leisure time, but then he saw the book I laid out on the table, the Ashlander Hymns.

"Consider it a gift," I told him as he inspected the cover, pleasant surprise on his face. "All I want is a few moments of your time and answers to a few questions. Then I'll leave you alone."

His tone changed a bit after that, commending me on knowing the Ashlander tradition of gift-giving when seeking to make a good impression. We spoke freely, the din of other conversation and music in the Inn loud enough that I didn't fear being overheard.

Of all the Ashlander tribes, the Urshilaku take the Nerevarine prophecies the most seriously, other tribes treating them with more skepticism. Their Ashkhan and Wise Woman also fill the roles of Warrior-Protector and Oracle-Seer for the Nerevarine cult, calling the Hortator 'Nerevar Moon-and-Star'. He told me where the tribe could be found- roaming the northern coast of Vvardenfell and following the herds- and that they are the most conservative of all the Ashlander tribes with the most disdain for foreigners.

Hassour and I talked until noon and I went back to Balmora in the rain, returning to Caius Cosades tired and soaked to the skin. He made the recommendation I take a small rest first, for he had a lot to explain to me. Before I could even wonder how I was supposed to sleep with such anticipation in my mind, my body answered that for me and I passed out for about an hour.

Caius got me up in the evening and said it was time he told me why I was brought here.

The Emperor and his advisors seem to think that I "have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the prophecies". That's the fanciest way of saying 'maybe, maybe not' I have ever heard. At first, Caius believed the goal of bringing me to Morrowind was to provide a persuasive imposter that might politically aid the Empire. Now, he says, he is not so sure. We both seem to agree that there is more to this than myth and too many things seem far too coincidental. When he asked for my thoughts, I wasn't sure what to say. Eventually I settled upon answering that while I think it's a long shot to say someone fulfills a prophecy when we don't know the full prophecy to begin with, there are certainly strange things happening. Terrible things. And I want to put a stop to them if I can for my people's sake, all other reasons aside. I also admitted to being curious as to what really happened at Red Mountain all those ages ago, but the threat of the Blight and Dagoth Ur are foremost in my mind.

Caius is sending me now to find the Urshilaku and have them test me against the prophecies, see what they think, and find out if they know what might be done to put a stop to the power of the Mountain.

 


	15. 21-22 Hearthfire, 3E426

**21 Hearthfire, 3E426**

_"The gods and fates are cruel. I served you faithfully once, Lord Nerevar, and you repaid me with death! Come, lay down your weapons. It is not too late for my mercy. Together we shall speak for the law, and shall drive the mongrel dogs of the Empire from Morrowind..."_

I was out of Balmora early in spite of the rain and pre-dawn darkness, finding that the cracking of thunder and flashes of lightning served to match my discontent. It's not as if I was going back to sleep. Oh no, I've learned that by now about those nightmares.

Following the western coastline this time, I found myself on a swamp road by sunrise. It was a pleasant break, walking through green forests of tall trees draped in mosses like strange ritual shrouds, crystalline ponds spotted with lily pads. It's too cold for the blossoms now, but just a month ago these ponds would have been dotted with green and white brilliance. There was a pack of docile guar scrounging for food, calm enough to even let me pet them. For a creature that looks so absurd, what with its large rounded head and tiny forearms, they're kind of... cute.

It was out here I found Gnaar Mok, a fishing village consisting mostly of rather unpleasant-looking shacks suspended above the water on posts. Nothing of note really aside from House Hlaalu's Arenim Manor to be seen, and even that was quite pitiful for a 'manor'. I didn't hang around after settling in for a quick fishsteak, the entire town seems shady and I heard at least one man openly discussing thievery antics with a fellow within earshot of a guard who was more preoccupied with skipping stones.

From there it was rocky brown coastline where I couldn't go ten steps without nearly crushing a scrib underfoot all the way to Gnisis, which I'd stopped in on during my pilgrimage. Not knowing what kind of resources I would be able to find from there on, I shelled out the coin for extra supplies. Enough food by my estimate to cover a week, extra healing and cure potions, and I even replaced the dinky old hammer I had been using to straighten out my armor with

It was dark when I reached Ald Velothi but the woman must have seen the outpost lights glinting from my steel, for she stopped me before I got very close and begged for my help. A pilgrim had been kidnapped by a group of outcast Ashlanders. I spotted the chance to test out my ability to negotiate with these people right away, and do some good in the process.

The yurt wasn't far and easy to find even at night, their campfire was quite bright against the horizon. Two of them stood outside and I approached, careful to keep my hands off and a good distance away from my weapons. I didn't dare make a move that suggested hostile intention.

I saw her immediately, given away by her plainer settler's clothing and distressed expression. The leader asked me to state my business or leave and I didn't pause to tell him to release her. A bounty was settled; though a bit high, I daren't haggle the short-tempered man too low and it was worth not risking her life as well as my own by trying to forcefully remove her. With the three of them, I might have handled myself, but I could not assure they couldn't harm her. We were able to walk out without so much as a weapon being brandished... this gives me hope for when I meet the Urshilaku.

* * *

**22 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I came across the third fishing village in a row so far, Khuul, as the coastline shifted from north-south to east-west. I have reached the northern sea. Aside from having a meal that didn't have to come out of my packed rations, there was not much to do here either, just like the rest.

The true Ashlands really began a couple of hours east of Khuul, and the weather is the worst it can be when one is looking for something: fog. Thick soupy fog at that, and if I didn't have a compass I'd think I was going in circles. I just can't see how anyone or anything can live in a place like this, it's nothing but ash and spiked grasses... a wasteland. Then I remember that the Ashlanders haven't been given much choice.

I'm spending the night on a mat of stiff reddish leaves, but it is better than lying in the ash. I wish I could start a fire. The autumn chill bites, but there is no wood. The only trees are burnt skeletons, charred from the inside out long ago.

 


	16. 23 Hearthfire, 3E426

**23 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I woke to the howling of an ash storm and was immediately grateful I had put a hillside, and my shield, between myself and Red Mountain. I estimated the sun had come up not very long before, of course, it was nearly impossible to say. But it was thanks to these powerful winds that I ultimately found the Urshilaku camp. The sound of the hollow, wooden chimes carried on the air and led me to a cluster of hide yurts framed with chitin.

Even in the storm the natives were going about their lives, the clothes simpler but more colorful than their settler cousins and strolling around barefoot on the harsh ground. Apart from the first disdainful yet curious glance each one gave me they seemed to do their best to ignore my presence entirely, even walking around me and proceeding on when I tried to stand in their way to ask a question. I was warned my reception would be cold...

Soon I happened on a woman who seemed to be gathering a large amount of a thorny root from the outskirts of the camp, and had an idea. There had been plenty of that stuff near where I had spent the night so I navigated back to my camp by compass and memory and gathered all my arms could carry. Then I returned to the Urshilaku, found the same woman still plucking the meager givings nearby, and laid the pile at her feet.

An Outlander with some knowledge of their traditions? This piqued their curiosity. As I spoke to the woman her fellows paused in their tasks and chores to come close enough to watch, listening rather impossible over the howling wind. We ducked into shelter, the outside of a covered cluster of yurts, while she fought to stuff all the herb I had brought into her basket.

I told her I was looking to meet with her Ashkhan and Wise Woman about matters related to the Nerevarine, and there was suspicion in her eyes. She demanded to know why, saying quite firmly that those prophecies 'were not for Outlanders'. The Ashlanders value honesty, and I am sure I would have just looked worse if I dodged around giving any real answers. So I was forced to say words that even made me very uncomfortable to utter, and made even worse by where I was and who I was among.

"I... think I may fulfill the Nerevarine prophecies. I want to know for sure." Is that really what I think? My mind nagged, but I ignored it.

She just stared, boggling at me, glancing to her fellows who looked back at her in intrigue, obviously not having heard me. Then her eyes were back on me, at first trying to smirk as if she had just been joked with but when I didn't smile back, only shrugged apologetically, that faltered. Then she took quite obvious offense, lips pursed and looking me over... and at long last, a sigh and her face relaxed in resignation.

She wanted to call me insane, she said, but could not bring herself to think me mad as I was too composed and well-mannered. Not wanting the burden of having sent a foreigner into the Ashkhan's yurt on her own shoulders she sent me to meet with his champion Zabumund instead and get his opinion. As I walked up to the yurt she pointed out, I saw her dash over to her gathered neighbors and, I'm sure, immediately start telling them what I'd said because I felt their stares even as I stepped inside.

Then I had to repeat the uncomfortable words all over again to Zabumund, who reacted much the same. I told him of what I had learned of the Sixth House as well and asked as humbly as I could to see the Ashkhan. While acknowledging my custom and my honor, the answer was a deadpan 'no'. I was silent for a time, then recalling the Ashlander custom of challenges and what I had been taught of it, I proposed a duel to the death for the right.

Thankfully, he declined, now with a smile on his face. He'd regret killing an honorable warrior, as he said, and really so would I. But my boldness had made the desired impression and I was told to meet with Ashkhan Sul-Matuul, with his blessing.

By the time I actually met with the Ashkhan word had circulated about me and what had brought me there well enough that he already knew my name and my intent, so I wasn't forced to say strange things again. Letting me in on the ways of the cult would be tricky, Outlanders were forbidden from joining. The best he could offer was to make me Clanfriend of the Ashlanders by putting me through a rite known as a Harrowing.

Sul-Matuul sent me to the tribe's burial caverns wherein his father was interred with a magical bow he wielded in life, saying that finding it and finding my way back in the ash storm would serve as part of the Harrowing. A bit east of the camp I found the rock cairn he described and per instruction continued straight south, walking right into the winds coming off the mountain and struggling just to see, until I found myself right at its door and thankful I had refilled my skin of fresh water before I set out. The cave wasn't much to speak of, besides eerie and at times so dark I had to navigate by lantern.

By the time I got out with the bonemold bow in my hands the sun was going down but it was thankfully clear again, making the journey back far better than the journey there. I'd passed the test, said Sul-Matuul, and was now Clanfriend, which meant he could speak plainly with me now. I didn't like where that was going when he gestured for me to sit across from him on a colored rug, a stern look on his face.

And speak plainly he did. "How could an Outlander be the Nerevarine?" He asked with unveiled disgust. Frustration in his tone with every word he said and while he recognized my honor and merit, this went against everything he knew. Nerevar reborn was to drive the foreigners out, not  _be_ one.

I sympathized. I told him I understood precious little of any of this and I did not make these claims in a bid for power, gold, or anything of that right. None of them interested me. I simply wanted my freedom to live, and securing that for not just myself, but everyone on Vvardenfell and in all of Morrowind meant putting a stop to the threats from the Mountain. I was not there to glorify myself or bring insult to their ancient traditions, and I apologized for my offensive ignorance.

We were quiet for some time. Then he said, "Go see the Wise Woman." And nothing more. I could tell he wished to be left alone with his thoughts.

Nibani Maesa was her name, and she was far easier to talk to than her Ashkhan. She began by speaking to me from prophecy, which I've copied down here to better commit to my memory:

The Prophecy of the Stranger is first:

_"When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,_   
_And sleepers serve the seven curses,_   
_To the hearth there comes a stranger,_   
_Journeyed far 'neath moon and star._

_Though stark-born to sire uncertain,_   
_His aspect marks his certain fate._   
_Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him._   
_Prophets speak, but all deny._

_Many trials make manifest_   
_The stranger's fate, the curses' bane._   
_Many touchstones try the stranger._   
_Many fall, but one remains."_

And the Prophecy of the Seven Trials:

_"What he puts his hand to, that shall be done._   
_What is left undone, that shall be done._

_On a certain day to uncertain parents_   
_Incarnate moon and star reborn._

_Neither blight nor age can harm him._   
_The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies._

_In caverns dark Azura's eye sees_   
_And makes to shine the moon and star._

_A stranger's voice unites the Houses._   
_Three Halls call him Hortator._

_A stranger's hand unites the Velothi._   
_Four Tribes call him Nerevarine._

_He honors blood of the tribe unmourned._   
_He eats their sin, and is reborn._

_His mercy frees the cursed false gods,_   
_Binds the broken, redeems the mad._

_He speaks the law for Veloth's people._   
_He speaks for their land, and names them great."_

There are other prophecies, many of them lost... some by intention, some not. The Ashlanders do not write things down, passing on stories and legends by oral tradition, which she admits is flawed. The seven curses spoken of in the Prophecy of the Stranger is an example of one of the lost prophecies. Even Maesa was not able to tell me anything about it. However, she said the Dissident Priests often studied and wrote down Ashlander beliefs, keeping them hidden away from the eyes of the Temple, so finding them could mean finding the lost parts of the prophecies.

I also inquired about my dreams and the man in the golden mask and his strange words. Without a doubt, she said, Dagoth Ur was the one speaking to me, addressing me as Nerevar, calling to me from the Mountain. Such dreams she called 'very serious and dangerous', but had no means to stop them. I would have kept asking questions but it was starting to grow late, and I was invited to stay in her yurt overnight, an invitation I took gratefully as I still hadn't worked out all my soreness from the previous night.

Before I settled in, however, I realized Nibani had not once spoken of her own thoughts on the matter though her Ashkhan had done so freely. So, I asked her if she thought I might be the one the prophecy was talking about. My mind was, after all, starting to dwell on the similarities between some of those words and my own life. Her answer? A long look at me, a simple 'no', and then turning away to go to sleep.

So I lay here listening to the chimes of the camp and other strange sounds of the ashlands, wondering, what do _I_  think? Do I think I'm Nerevar reborn? Can I even answer that one way or the other without being at some fault? Or have I lost my mind?

 


	17. 24-26 Hearthfire, 3E426

**24 Hearthfire, 3E426**

Rather than simply go back the way I came when it was time to start travelling, I opted for something slightly different, continuing to follow the northern coast eastward until I happened upon a large island dotted with daedric ruins.

My map and guide indicated that though I could not see it a town lay beyond those rocks, complete with a port and buyable passage to other parts of Vvardenfell. Sure enough there was, and it was about as one imagines a town isolated on the northeast part of the district and completely full of Nords can be... that is, not at all. Since I have the coin on hand, I decided to give my tired feet a rest and simply pay to be taken from port to port, just this once. It is more than my body that needs time to rest right now anyway.

* * *

**25 Hearthfire, 3E426**

I arrived at Hla Oad, a fishing village rather close to Balmora, in the early hours of the morning in a rainstorm, even still it wasn't long before I was back and reporting my results to Caius.

He took into consideration everything I told him and said Mehra Milo was probably our best chance of actually coming into contact with the Dissident Priests, but he'd need some time to contact her. Then he revealed the reason he'd seemed so distracted since my arrival.

While I was out, a small unit of Fort Buckmoth Legion soldiers had gone out to patrol for smugglers along the Bitter Coast, specifically out near Gnaar Mok. Only one of them returned, disfigured with corprus disease and rambling on about the Sixth House, a shrine, a cave called Ilunibi, and a priest by the name of Dagoth Gares. Caius couldn't seem to stress enough how dangerous this mission was and I really didn't have to be told twice. He gave me a larger stipend than usual for supplies and I set out in rapidly clearing weather.

I remembered the fort, having passed it on the road from Caldera to Ald'ruhn and back many an occasion. Caius must have given word that he'd be sending me before I even returned to Balmora, for the Champion in charge of the fort seemed to know who I was the moment I walked in. A formal Imperial soldier through and through, Raesa Pullia briefed me on the situation in practiced lines, telling me basically what Caius had. She couldn't give me an exact location on the cave but said to ask around with the locals.

Which, after a short walk southeast, I did. It took a few coins slipped into a hand, but I learned before it got dark that it lies on the northern edge of the island the village lies on. Tomorrow I will rise early, prepare myself, and take care of this Sixth House base personally.

* * *

**26 Hearthfire, 3E426**

My hand shakes as I write this by the light of the setting sun. I cannot go back to the village tonight. I do not know what will become of me now, but that makes it more important than ever that I make some account of what happened to me...

I found the cave in the morning, it was hardly hidden. The small boat and crates nearby suggested a smuggling operation, so I knew I was in the right place. At first I saw nothing but blackness, so I lit up my lantern and hung it from my belt. There was a waterfall, lit up by the last traces of sunlight peering into cracks on the ceiling, and then more darkness and the earth sloped downward. On and on it went until I came across lit candles, a sure sign of current activity, the flames on their wicks not so much orange as they were red. Here the water was around my ankles and I came to a fork in my path, splitting off three ways, each too dark to see very far down. I chanced it and went left.

I didn't see the dremora until he was right on me with his spear, barely sidestepping in time. A spell crashed into the stone beside me too and just beyond the tall demon I saw the source, a smaller figure, charging up another spell. The dremora stood firmly in my way, so I was forced to keep light on my feet, dodging the spells that flew my way, blocking his spear, and swinging my blade all at the same time. After a couple of missed swings and faltered steps I had a rhythm with it. At the first chance I pinned that spear against the cave wall with my shield and dealt the dremora a finishing blow. By then, the caster was out of spells and I was able to end him swiftly. Closer inspection by light of my lantern revealed a Dunmer, some kind of cultist I assumed, perhaps not there by their own will... I dared not think about it.

At yet another three-way divide in the cave I went right, figuring I was already lost anyway. Out of the darkness this time there came a groaning, mindless creature that I couldn't even see properly until I struck it down and had a look with my lamp. I was almost immediately sick. Clearly once Dunmer this creature looked as if something had taken not just its eyes but that entire part of its face off, leaving a gaping black hole. There were more of these further in, and more daedra too, I recall having to switch to my unenchanted sword to be able to go head to head with a towering atronach of frost. But the worst was the bulging, reeking, lame corprus monster. I dared not touch it or even get within its reach. Luckily I had a two spellscrolls on me, one of fire and one of frost magic, and it took both to fell the thing.

Eventually I found myself at a ramp lined on both sides with eerie red and black torches, a great storm atronach at the top. It fired spells down at me as I charged up at it, dodging to the right or left at just the last second, and a powerful swing with my ice-sword shattered its form into pieces. There was a Daedroth waiting for me at the top; something I'd only read about before, a hulking lizard-demon who nearly knocked me down with every hit so powerful were his blows. It landed a powerful strike on my shoulder and my sword-arm released my weapon in shock and went numb. It tried to get its giant head and teeth round the edge of my shield and take it from me but I used its little scheme against it, letting it grab hold just so I could slam its skull against the cave walls until it lay lifeless and twitching on the floor. I hoped I was getting close by then, my healing amulet was starting to lose its power from overuse, and I was down to only a few remaining potions.

The elaborate torches continued down the hall, which I followed after getting my breath, sword, and feeling all back. Around a corner, I saw it: the shrine, and in the center stood a man in robes and a mask I knew couldn't be anyone else but Dagoth Gares.

"The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar. Or Adarise Salvel, as you call yourself. I have a message for you from my Master." Though my sword was already in my hand I stopped midway in the room, saying nothing, simply waiting for him to go on. " _'Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.'_ "

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Yes," Gares answered. What came next didn't seem to surprise him, in fact I am pretty sure I heard him laughing beneath his mask as I put one hand on his shoulder to steady him, and my other drove my blade straight through his gut.

Choking, gasping, I heard him whisper after I gave the blade a twist, "Even as my Master wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh." As I let go of him his fingers brushed against the back of my hand and it stung like venom, but feeling no real change, I took my potions anyway just in case, one of each variety, and left the cave.

As time progressed I felt the stinging getting worse and spreading up my arm. It was too dark to inspect myself then, but my heart was already pounding. I think in the back of my head I already knew what had happened, but I didn't want to believe it. Then I got into the sunlight and took of my gauntlet. Sores. Familiar sores.

Corprus sores.

I went into a daze that I have not really recovered from. It all seems too nightmarish right now. I don't feel sad, or scared, I feel blank, frozen in time... I wandered in a circle, made myself a camp because I simply can't go back to the village... not like this... I drank all the other cure potions I had in hopes something would work, washed the sores... they remain few but a few hours ago some started appearing below my right knee. It spreads. I can feel the beginnings of that stinging in my cheek too. Soon they will be there.

Saint Nerevar... what do I do now? Am I now just another Failed Incarnate? Was I ever the Incarnate to begin with?

Almsivi... ancestors...  _anyone...?_

 


	18. 27-28 Hearthfire, 3E426

**27 Hearthfire, 3E426**

Unsurprisingly, the last night was a sleepless one. All that kept running through my mind were the other terrible cases of corprus I had seen before, little more than creatures they were. The very thought of my mental faculties slipping away like that made me so frightened I'm not too ashamed to admit I wept for a long time. I took out my sword and contemplated falling onto it so that I might die with some measure of my dignity left. Corprus has no cure; it will either kill me through complications of the distortions to my body or I will wander mindless spreading corprus to everything I touch.

By dawn I was done grieving for my own fate and had made up my mind. I was going to go see Caius Cosades, apologize for my carelessness, report, and say goodbye. From there it will be on to see Seyda Neen, the town in which I discovered my freedom, one last time. And then it is the long and dangerous road east where I will then reach Tel Fyr and the Corprusarium below it, or die on the journey.

Travelers I met on the road moved to give me as wide a passage as possible and even averted their eyes as if just looking would get them sick. The sores on my cheek were looking more and more unpleasant. Mindful of that I swiped a length of cheap-looking cloth I do not believe will be missed from behind a Caldera shop. It was sufficient size to drape over my head and wrap around my face until only my eyes are visible. My armor and skirt cover the rest of my disfigurations so far, although, this is starting to get painfully uncomfortable.

In Balmora I steered clear of anyone who tried to speak to me and went straight to Caius, revealing my face to him. I waited to address it until last, telling him everything I'd learned from my visit to the cave. Only then did I say that he would need to find other help and wished him luck. He stopped me before I could walk back out, however, and dug around in a chest until he pulled out a little dwemer artifact. The wizard of that tower, Divath Fyr, liked such trinkets and it might help me get priority treatment in the Corprusarium. He also spared me a few levitation potions, explaining that Telvanni towers don't have stairs so I might need them. I thanked him for all his help, apologized for being difficult to work with at times, and left with my heart feeling heavy. I had started to consider him a good friend.

I settled down tonight beside a pond a ways out of Pelagiad, right off of one of the first roads I ever walked as a free woman. The tavern windows look bright and inviting even from here but I am... unable to be around people anymore. A shame. I was just beginning to learn how to enjoy the company of others. I thought about at least trying to look for Nels Llendo there but I don't want to shock or disgust him... perhaps a sweet letter explaining that sadly I will never be able to make that meeting, but I don't want to upset him needlessly. I will also miss Ladia's company, and am sad I will never be able to really reciprocate that kindness she did me.

A docile guar has come up to me and started nudging my hand to pet him when I am not using it to write. He hasn't left ever since he ate most of my meal, which my appetite is lacking so I didn't get upset about. Perhaps he can sense that I am lonely.

* * *

**28 Hearthfire, 3E426**

This morning I was starting to feel noticeably worse and I spent the first few hours of sunlight washing and bandaging some of the more severe patches of weeping sores. It definitely helped to have another layer between the tender areas and my armor. I felt disgusting enough that I daren't really walk into Seyda Neen but I spent a short while contemplating it from afar, remembering that first day I arrived in Vvardenfell with no idea where I was or what anything was.

Now it's off for Tel Fyr, and the Corprusarium. Even though I have met with a terrible fate, I cannot say I regret coming to Vvardenfell. I cannot have regrets about spending time as a free woman exploring the land of my people, getting to know their traditions, their beliefs, and their past, even the dark secrets and mysteries. And it is hard for anyone to say that they wish they did not improve themselves and become stronger. I saw many beautiful sights and made a handful of fascinating friends. Passing Vivec City made me smile, I remembered flying around there... yes, I am without regrets, save that I was not able to aid the fight against Dagoth Ur any more than I had. Now it was in the hands of the Houses and the Legion, and the loss of one single Dunmer information-gatherer will not put a dent in their forces.

Once I crossed into Molag Amur, despite the slight nip in the air I felt compelled to go for a swim. Making sure I was alone I shed my armor and clothes and did so, diving to the bottom for pearls and just enjoying the cold sea, even though the salt stung my sores ever so slightly like a cruel reminder. Once I was out I had to rebandage and clean them all over again, but it was well worth it. Came up with three pearls.

From the swim and my brisk pace and the sheer length of my journey I was exhausted by the time I ultimately reached Tel Fyr. It had begun to rain so I lingered outside a while to enjoy it and let it wash the remnants of salt out of my hair. After all, once I went in the tower, coming out was of slim probability. So I paced the little farm of saltrice and marshmarrow along with the netch herd until it was too dark to see.

I spoke to a woman inside claiming to be one of Divath Fyr's 'wives' (confusing me by stating it wasn't in any legal sense) who showed me to where his study was, on a floor above with, as Caius had predicted, no stairs. I was glad of the potions. The man himself has a bizarre fascination with corprus, but I won't judge someone who is charitable enough to create a refuge for victims of a disease that no one else was willing to deal with. He seemed quite pleased with his new dwemer trinket and offered to answer any questions I had before I went down below.

I had heard corprus called the divine disease before, but I was never clear on why. It comes from the theory that the disease is actually a divine blessing that most mortals are unable to handle, and it makes them unstable and mad. Divath's reasoning is that corprus, while a horrible disease itself, renders the body immune to any other form of disease. Not only that, but he has noticed in his studies that victims of corprus stop aging completely and permanently, making them essentially immortal, barring being physically killed by either their deformations or outside influences. He did meet my one request; a potent poison to take with me so that if I feel my mind is slipping beyond the brink, I might put an end to the anguish. While a grim thing to ask of someone, I still feel the alternative is worse than death.

So it is back to living like I am in prison now, tucked away in a corner of the Corprusarium caves to avoid the more aggressive and mindless infected. I wonder what one is to do to pass the time here, not that in a place such as this one can tell time is passing at all.

 


	19. 1-3 Frostfall, 3E426

**1 Frostfall, 3E426**

It has been some time now. Several days I think. It is hard to count. My condition is deteriorating... even writing is a slow and difficult process. I have seen not sun or moon so I was forced to ask one of the wizard's wives what the date was. It is hard to keep to a single, clear thought.

I barely leave my corner. The women bring me food and I eat it when I am able. There are hallucinations... images and colors in the edges of my vision that vanish when I look at them. I took a shard of a broken mirror from elsewhere in the cave and brought it to my little camp to settle over my washbowl; at times I swear I see a face that is not mine now and then if only for a second. And when the silence grows oppressive I hear a bell I am certain is not there. Prayer brings me no peace at all. Sometimes one of the women sits and plays a guarhide drum and it is the only solace here. It somehow calms even the mindless.

* * *

**2 Frostfall, 3E426**

Felt a little more lucid and started to wander around a bit while the drum was being played, the risk of aggression from other infected low when this occurs. I came across a man who's not much more than a sore-covered blob on a spider-like mechanical chair but his mental faculties seemed intact. Mostly.

If his story is true it just confirms that corprus really does stop aging. He gave his name as Yagrum Bagarn and when I asked what sort of name that was, his reply was 'Dwemer'. I thought they'd disappeared, said I, and he confirmed this. Even he didn't know what'd happened to his own people, though he spent years and years looking, that search eventually being what brought him into contact with the divine disease. I wondered aloud if all the Dwemer looked like him, but no, he told me it was just the effects of corprus.

It was good to have conversation again, even if a lot of what he said was too technical for me to understand... at least asking the date every time I think to is giving me some sense of how long I've been here, or I might start to think I've been down here forever and my freedom was a dream.

* * *

**3 Frostfall, 3E426**

I was confused to say the least when one of Divath Fyr's wives sought me out in my little corner and didn't have a plate of food in her hands. The wizard was asking to see me, she said, and waited for me to get up and straighten out my clothes a bit. She silently escorted me to the upper floor of the tower and pointed up the stairless vertical tunnel into his study, placing a levitation potion in my hand, and then went on her way.

He has an offer to make me, he said. He has a potion which he believes has a chance of reversing the negative symptoms of the disease. I asked for the catch since there so obviously was one, even though my thoughts are cloudy and slow. It had killed all the other subjects who had tried it.

I have accepted this offer. Right now he's waiting for me to drink it, respecting my wish for a few moments to write down some final thoughts. This journal is to be sent to Caius Cosades upon the event of my death in hopes that some of the things I learned and observed will prove useful to his efforts.

Know that my death was my own free choice made for the sake of the safety of others. I implore with whoever should read this, Caius or anyone else, that you save my people. I would be lying if I said I was not scared, for I go forward into the unknown.

 


	20. 3-5 Frostfall, 3E426

**3 Frostfall, 3E426, _continued_**

I almost do not believe it myself, but I live.

I recall sitting down on the edge of a bed in preparation to drink the potion. I recall closing my eyes and downing it in one go, though my hands trembled in fear. And then it is all rather hazy. I felt hands on me, pushing me, I think I was almost falling off the bed and the wizard's assistant was shoving me back onto it. I couldn't move and was struggling to pull in air and my vision was nothing but an indistinguishable swirl of colors. It felt as if the whole tower was pitching like a ship in a storm. My stomach was in turmoil and my dizziness worsened as I started to asphyxiate... every muscle screamed in pain but I had neither the air nor control to vocalize it... and then it was all darkness.

Divath Fyr says I was out for several hours. When I awoke I was feeling too weak to move much but I held out my arm to look at where some of the worst sores had spread. For a moment my arm looked too stocky, and golden instead of ash-colored... the hallucination faded as soon as my vision obtained better focus. But the sores were gone. With a sudden spark of energy I sat up, quickly grabbing hold of the blanket when I realized it was all that covered me, but I took a peek beneath. All the blemishes and bandages were gone. A plain robe was laid out for me to put on but I didn't quite have that amount of strength yet, opting to just lay there smiling, pleased to be alive and clear of this disease.

But as it turns out, the wizard explained to me once he realized I'd woken up, I still technically have corprus. The potion only removed the negative symptoms, the physical and mental deteriorations. Still riding a mental high from having been freed of my death sentence, I thanked him profusely, but from his demeanor I got the impression that the discovery alone that his formula worked was good enough news for him.

While I was out cold he'd run a series of tests to be sure, and it would appear I still have the corprus trait of complete immunity to all varieties of common and blight diseases. I remembered what he'd said before and inquired if this meant I was now ageless as well. He shrugged, saying that the only way to know that for sure is to wait some years and see if I ever started feeling old. Divath said he would begin trying out this formula on more of the desperate patients of the Corprusarium, and while I thanked him for his hospitality I told him I would be leaving as soon as I felt strong enough.

* * *

**4 Frostfall, 3E426**

By morning I felt strong enough to put on my armor and depart from Tel Fyr, leaving behind a sizable donation to aid Fyr's efforts. My feet were light as I made my way down the southern coast and since yesterday I've been recalling a part of the Seven Visions prophecy that now particularly stands out:

_Neither blight nor age can harm him,_   
_The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies._

I contemplated what it could mean, if this technically applied to me now that I was immune to blight and quite possibly ageless... concepts I'm still getting my head around. Attempting to pray when I passed through Molag Mar was half-hearted and unsuccessful at bringing me any answers or peace. What was rather invigorating, though, came after I had passed through the town.

I had intended to just pass by the stronghold at first. But the more I thought about it and the more I stared, the stranger the feeling I got from it was. Sure enough, when I caved to my curiosity at last it turned out to be another base of operations for the Sixth House cult. I exterminated everything in there that moved, and with vigor. I felt it would send Dagoth Ur and all his underlings the clear message that I was back, their curse had not succeeded in stopping me, and I would show no mercy until Vvardenfell knew some measure of peace. Nerevar or not, they will grow to fear me if I have any say in it.

Because of this little distraction I ended up having to find lodging in Suran- and even this place is not free from Dagoth Ur's madness.

"The wickwheat is winnowed and under the harrow, the earth is prepared for planting," the mad one muttered, "You will die, false one."

Good luck. Your ilk tried that before and here I stand. I challenge the power of the mountain itself; I do not fear you, Sharmat.

* * *

**5 Frostfall, 3E426**

I headed back to Balmora for once not feeling obligated or under watch to do so. I am a volunteer now, fighting with my own will rather than out of reluctance.

But Caius's fate, it would seem, has other plans for him. When I arrived in his lodgings I found him hastily packing some of his personal possessions into a sack. He was pleased to see me, albeit surprised, and I told him everything that had happened. He cannot help me anymore, however; he is being recalled to the Imperial City and hinted to me that he fears for not only the Emperor's health but the Empire's future in general.

I was handed the keys to this small but cozy apartment and told to look after it for when and if he should return to Vvardenfell. I was also given the recommendation to go and seek out Mehra Milo for possible contacts within the Dissident Priests, but I didn't need to be reminded. We wished each other the best of luck and he was gone.

This little room is strange without Caius here, but it is nice to have a place to call my own at least temporarily.

 


	21. 6-7 Frostfall, 3E426

**6 Frostfall, 3E426**

Another nightmare... this time nothing but darkness and the chiming of deep bells. Dagoth Ur's voice did not speak to me. Perhaps he has finally realized I have no intention of coming to serve him.

Upon arrival in Vivec City I went straight to the High Fane, though leisure tempted me I assured myself that it could wait. Something felt wrong right away when I started nonchalantly pacing the library, pretending to read a book, and could not find Mehra Milo anywhere. It'd look too suspicious if I started asking about her whereabouts so I slipped back out and started nosing around in search of her private quarters instead. She'd told me it was near the canton offices and that was where I found it, and she wasn't there either.

I'd been turning to leave when a note on the dresser caught my eye and I picked it up. At first it just looked like a note to some friend of hers; and then I remembered that she and Caius would often communicate through coded letters, by their own admission. My eyes widened as I realized what it meant when the letter said she 'had to run over to the Ministry of Truth, likely to be tied up there for a while'.

They've caught her.

I stepped back outside, note folded in my skirt pocket, and stared up at the floating hunk of rock. I am finally being forced to choose between the Temple that has kept my people safe and prosperous for ages and what my heart tells me I should do. To turn my back on Mehra now would be cowardice and very little more.

I still have plenty of levitation potions from when I went to Tel Fyr but I'm going to wait till sundown to enact my plan, giving me a few hours to wait. Which is good, because coming up with two scrolls of Divine Intervention in this city is tricky, despite the presence of so many Divines-worshipping Imperials.

* * *

**7 Frostfall, 3E426**

Under the rather chilly cover of darkness I went out behind the Temple where no one was watching and used one of my levitation potions to float up to the wooden scaffolding just outside of the doors leading in. I was immediately confronted by an Ordinator, but I didn't fret; the note had mentioned this one and hinted she might be of some help.

She slipped me the key, told me where Mehra was being kept, and laid down on the wood platform muttering, "Oh no, I have been overpowered, woe is me. I didn't even see their face."

Once inside I tried to bluff my way though, hoping in the deepest part of my heart I could somehow still escape any negative consequences from the Temple for what I was about to do. It worked for a short while, the first two I passed didn't even give me a second glance after they saw me walking around like I very well belonged there. But it was all foiled when a different, not quite so sympathetic Ordinator found me. "You're not supposed to be here, initiate!" I didn't even have time to curse my carelessness, his cry had alerted at least three others.

I flew through the door to the prison keep, which only attracted more unwanted attention. I could see Mehra's cell, or at least what I had been told was her cell, all the way across the room. Five Ordinators in front of me, three behind. Killing an Ordinator would not do; I didn't wish to dig my hole any deeper than I already had with the Temple. I waited a moment for them to start converging on me and dropped off the wooden platforming we were standing on to the ground about ten feet below. Landed on my feet like a cat and hit the ground running madly for the cell door.

I turned around and used an alteration scroll to lock the door back behind me, barricading myself and Mehra in. She looked weary, but not as if she'd been tortured quite yet, and I shoved a scroll into her hand. I could hear keys jingling outside as the angered Ordinators tried to find the right one. And then I took out my own scroll, we nodded to one another, and used them.

The scrolls transported us to Ebonheart, a very Imperial town just southwest of Vivec City. The grand cantons were visible across the water as we made our way down to the docks, in a hurry to get even further away before word spread. It is strange to me that, technically, I was just saved by the Imperial cult, a religion I've had nothing but disdain for in the past. I recall the priests that would come down and sit outside the cells- almost always in chairs, too squeamish for the floor, and piously try to convert those within. I'd wonder if they could even see the color of my skin and eyes, could tell I was nothing like them and their religion had nothing to offer me. And when the priests of Akatosh came around from their distant town, they were the most smiley and intolerable, almost all soft little Imperials with cushioned lives.

Ha, I am starting to rant.

I waited while Mehra talked quietly with a fisherwoman, contemplating the dragon statue sitting in the main square of the docks, trying to remember what I had been told about dragons and how they played a role in the Imperial beliefs about their royal bloodline... dragon lineage or something... but then they called me over. We three loaded into a small fishing boat and sailed off into the peeking sunrise.

It was a long, dull journey east. I discovered I can no longer tolerate boredom now that I am used to freedom and was on multiple occasions asked if I could please stop pacing the boat or practicing sword-swings. I prepared the meals for all of us out of sheer lack of anything else to do except stare at the southern coast as it slowly rolled by.

At sunset we finally stopped on the southeast coast of Vvardenfell, in the rocky Azura's coast region. I paid our transport who wasted no time in heading back to Ebonheart. Apparently we arrived with great timing, as Mehra explained that the door of Holamayan Monastery is only opened at the hours sacred to the Good Daedra Azura: dawn and dusk. A few stone steps later and we were at what looked like any other traditional Dunmer building with its curved tan frame and maroon detailing but this, Mehra said, is the home of the Dissident Priests.

She will go meet with Master Gilvas Barelo, she said once we were inside, and recommended that I get some rest, an invitation I gladly took.

 


	22. 8 Frostfall, 3E426

**8 Frostfall, 3E426**

In the morning I found Mehra and the Temple's Master compiling scrolls and texts. They did not see me, I chose not to disturb them yet but walk around for a bit getting used to the place. In every respect this seems like a normal Temple. It looks much the same as the others and there are shrines to the saints, but these people are hidden heretics in the eyes of the Temple.

Soon they figured out I was awake and called me into the library room. They had several texts out and open, having picked out everything they could find related to the prophecies. There were the ones I had already heard from the Ashlanders, and ones I had never before read, and many other books.

Gilvas Barelo introduced himself and we began. He is a grim and strange man whose manner suggests he has been here for a very long time indeed. Together we went over each tome. "Saint Nerevar" was simply a retelling of the Temple's public account of the events, and therefore quite worthless. "Nerevar Moon-and-Star" detailed the Ashlanders opposing account but contained no information I did not already have. "The Real Nerevar", however, was of slightly more interest; speaking of the persuasive powers of Nerevar's ring made for him by the Dwemer during the years of unity, known as Moon-and-Star. Supposedly it was lost after his death and has not been recovered.

Then I was able to read of the Seven Curses, which is a set of trials the Nerevarine is said to face.

_...through the doors of the unmourned house_   
_where scoffers scoff and schemers scheme_   
_from the halls of the oath-breaking house_   
_rings seven curses of gods blasphemed_

_first curse, Curse-of-Fire_   
_second curse, Curse-of-Ash_   
_third curse, Curse-of-Flesh_   
_fourth curse, Curse-of-Ghosts_   
_fifth curse, Curse-of-Seed_   
_sixth curse, Curse-of-Despair_   
_seventh curse, Curse-of-Dreams..._

The first bit seems to refer to Houses Dwemer and Dagoth, the profaners of the divine and oath-breakers. Curses of Fire, Ash and Flesh without a doubt speaks of the magma, ash storms and blight diseases. The Curse of Dreams would be the soul sickness ad madness that inflicts settled and ashlander Dunmer alike, and perhaps my own nightmares as well. The other three... Ghosts, Seed and Despair seem to defy straight explanation but I suspect I might have already experienced Despair, and I fear that Seed hints at agricultural problems that may arise if this gets any worse.

Gilvas then showed me the lost prophecy from their own texts, and it is easy to see why the ashlanders 'lost' it.

_From seventh sign of eleventh generation,_   
_Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,_   
_But Dragon-born and far-star-marked,_   
_Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,_   
_Blessed Guest counters seven curses,_   
_Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,_   
_To reap the harvest of the unmourned house._

His interpretation was that the first few lines spoke of someone who was not born of any of the Ashlander clans but under foreign stars. The sign of the dragon has long been associated with the Empire... the tumor on the heart of which I was born in. 'Outlander Incarnate' seems to be rather self-explanatory. 'Star-blessed' refers to being blessed by Good Daedra Azura and Gilvas seems to think the 'thrice-cursed blade' is a Dwemer artifact of some kind.

There was far more detail to be found about the Dwemer artifacts and their connection to Red Mountain in a volume entitled Kagrenac's tools. I'd heard that name before; the self-proclaimed last Dwemer in the Corprusarium had said that he worked as an apprentice to him and that he was some kind of legendary sorcerer. According to this book, the Dwemer discovered a magical stone beneath Red Mountain that Kagrenac determined was the heart of the god Lorkhan who was cast down here in the days before time as punishment for mischief. In order to make use of the heart's power, Kagrenac forged a set of magical tools. Wraithguard, the enchanted gauntlet that protects the wearer from being destroyed by the immense power, Sunder, the hammer that draws its power out, and Keening, an enchanted blade used to focus that power.

No one knows just what happened when Kagrenac used the tools at the Battle of Red Mountain, except that the Dwemer vanished from the world. Lord Nerevar and Lord Dagoth, at the time great friends, recovered them and not knowing what to do, Nerevar left Dagoth to guard them while he went to consult with Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil.

Nerevar and his council returned to Red Mountain to find Dagoth had gone mad, tempted and confused by the power of the tools. He would not let them pass until he had been mortally wounded and driven off. They took the tools for safe-keeping, swearing to never use them. But after Nerevar died- whether at their hands or from wounds sustained in battle- that oath was broken. They used the tools and gave themselves divine powers.

But Dagoth Ur wasn't dead, as they thought... somehow drawing power straight from the heart itself. Driven by anger he became terribly powerful and now the Tribunal is losing its power to hold his forces back. But even if they could, Givath questions, could we rightfully worship gods such as these? Gods that conceal the truth in shame and persecute those who speak it, gods who take their power from corruption and lies although their works are many and good?

 


	23. 9-11 Frostfall, 3E426

 

**9 Frostfall, 3E426**

I left Holamayan when the dawn broke and the hidden entrance opened, with the plan to cut across the wilderness to the Urshilaku camp. The Wise Woman will be able to help me with any further interpretations that can be gleaned from these tomes.

Once again I was left alone with my own thoughts as I picked over rocky coastline and made my way inland, and I kept coming back to the same question, what do I believe now? I simply can't hold to the Temple doctrine anymore, not after the things I have read and the things I have seen. It was all so confusing, and still to some degree is, but the story of the heart of Lorkhan seems to tie everything together and make an eerie amount of sense. Was Nerevar truly murdered? My mind is now more inclined to say yes than no but I cannot profess either for sure.

Rather than agonize over who I truly am in all this, however, I have decided that Nerevar Reborn or not, following Nerevar's path is the way to put an end to the Sharmat Dagoth Ur. That way I can keep my eyes on the road before me instead of tearing my mind apart over details that may or may not matter.

* * *

**10 Frostfall, 3E426**

In early morning I dropped in on the Urshilaku Wise Woman and laid out before her all the texts that Mehra Milo and Gilvas Barelo had transcribed for me. She then asked me to leave her be in her yurt and not return until tomorrow so that she might meditate on it.

I chose to alleviate boredom by earning some extra good standing with the Ashlanders, so I traded one of them some valuable herbs for a traditional chitin spear with a decent feel and went out hunting. I'd never used a spear before so I was clumsy with it, giving my prey a much more sporting chance, but I think if I get a few more chances to practice I'll have a much better sense of how to use it. I had no idea how to skin, so a kagouti that I felled had to be carried to the Urshilaku over my back for them to make use of the hide and meat. They were amused but grateful.

A bit weary of the spear at that point I set back out again with sword in hand intending to do some exploring. There are countless Dwemer ruins dotting the landscape out here, though I dared not go into any of them. One can still clearly hear the machines clanging and humming from well outside the buildings. I opted to go back down to the coast in lieu of poking around in the darkness some more, since it was a clear day in the ashlands, and have another swim like the one I had before committing myself to the Corprusarium. I am glad that was not my last.

* * *

**11 Frostfall, 3E426**

After a most pleasant morning meal prepared for me by the Urshilaku out of the fish I had brought them, I was directed to the Wise Woman's yurt. Both Nibani Maesa and Sul-Matuul awaited me within, seated around a small fire and I sat across from them, minding my manners.

The smell of some strong incense hanging in the air almost set me sneezing, but I managed to suppress it as Nibani spoke. She said that she had seen the signs in her trances and decided to change her judgment about me. She now believes I am the Incarnate, having clearly passed the first trial of being born to uncertain parents on a certain day. The 'signs' she saw seemed to hint that I had passed the second as well, and I saw both of them look to me for explanation.

I hadn't told them about my experience with corprus, it occurred to me, and I proceeded to recant the whole thing to the best of my memory. Nibani listened and nodded, but Sul-Matuul eyed me as if he wasn't sure if he should believe me. Not that I could blame him, I am not exactly a storyteller and the tale I told was a strange one indeed, and probably sounded... convenient.

Ahead of putting me to the third trial, he said, he wanted to test me again. I didn't even let him tell me what it was before I accepted. Kogoruhn is an ancient Dunmer stronghold to the southeast that he and his hunting party had discovered to be overrun with Sixth house cultists and corprus beasts and from here I was to retrieve for him three tokens. The first a cup bearing the mark of House Dagoth, so that he will know I saw what he saw. The second is the Shadow Shield from a tomb deep in its halls, as a sign of my strength to overcome the monsters within. And third, the weepings from the sores of a corprus infected; disgusting, but necessary for me to prove my immunity to it.

This place was more than I bargained for. I've set up camp some yards away and am taking time to rest after handling only two of Dagoth Ur's powerful minions. They are unlike anything I have encountered prior. Only barely resembling Dunmer anymore, hunched-over abominations of blight and dark magic wielding powerful destructive spells. One left me with a burn on my shield-arm that's going to take a few days to return to normal. With no access to supplies, I salvaged an armor piece from some poor fetcher's corpse and am using that to patch the damages in my own. The cup was safely retrieved, tomorrow, the rest.

 


	24. 12-13 Frostfall, 3E426

**12 Frostfall, 3E426**

It took a whole day's worth of searching in the darkness, I went through three torches and one of my swords actually broke in two, but I finally emerged with the shield.

I barely made it back to camp I am so thoroughly exhausted, and am nodding off as I write this. I hope all this turns out to be worth it.

* * *

**13 Frostfall, 3E426**

Everything has suddenly become quite clear. I will attempt to explain why...

Sul-Matuul allowed me to keep the shield and seemed satisfied that I was immune to corprus, and complimented me on my courage, particularly after seeing the state my armor was in. He ordered one of his clanspeople to repair it, so I changed into a colorful dress an Ashlander lent me and walked around barefoot for a while in honor of their custom.

_In caverns dark Azura's eye sees_  
_and makes to shine the moon and star._

The Ashkhan explained to me that this third trial spoke of a place in the Ashlands known as the Cave of the Incarnate, a place sacred to Azura. Neither he nor Nibani Maesa or any of the Urshilaku had laid eyes on it. They told me a riddle that made no sense to me whatsoever, saying that was the key to finding it, but lucky Nibani had an interpretation. Asking the other clanspeople about the riddle yielded some results as well, as they know this land well enough to navigate it blind.

_the eye of the needle lies in the teeth of the wind_  
_the mouth of the cave lies in the skin of the pearl_  
_the dream is the door and the star is the key_

The 'eye of the needle', 'teeth of the wind', and 'skin of the pearl' all refer to stone landmarks, a rock column, two rock spires and a pale rock respectively, landmarks the people told me were all congregated in an area out to the east. The pale rock was easiest to see in contrast with all the dark grey surrounding it and the other two markers were identified soon after.

I followed the valley and found a dead end, setting up a small camp and resting while I awaited the appearance of the twilight star. Like Holamayan, the door only opened during Azura's sacred hours, though in this case the Wise Woman told me it was likely completely invisible until then. All the landmarks had pointed me to this seeming dead end and a large wall of rock was before me so I ate and waited, hoping I had found the right place.

The hour came, and a voice spoke. " _With the door now under Azura's Star, the door is opened._ "

And so it was. A magnificent carved stone door appeared as if out of nowhere in the rock, and I knew from the chill on my spine that I had heard that voice before in my dreams. It was not the deep voice of Dagoth Ur, no, it was ethereal, female. Steeling myself I went in.

At the end of a brief tunnel there was a circular area. A grand statue of Azura rose out of the stone in the center, her hands out as if offering something. I started to approach it and get a better look at the object in her hands, catching the light of my torch, and then I tripped over something that made a most unpleasant sound. Swinging my light around to look I immediately wished I had not. A completely charred corpse was slumped over on the floor, and it wasn't the only one. Six in total, all in varying positions that suggested a very agonizing end.

My heart starting to race I went back to Azura's opened hands and leaned close. Therein hovered a ring, floating there by means of some magic, and when I saw its shape I knew what it was. Moon-and-Star. The symbol and indisputable proof of Nerevar's identity, not wearable by anyone but him, with which he united all the Chimer people in ancient times, before we were Dunmer. Superstition holds that anyone else who tried to wear it would die.

I can't recall what I was thinking as I removed my gauntlet and reached for it, or if I was thinking at all. I may have been in some kind of trance. I saw my hand moving toward it and felt powerless to stop it when I slipped my finger through. The same voice from the door, and my dreams, spoke, and I now knew it to be Azura.

_"Nerevar reborn, incarnate, your first three trials are finished. Now, two new trials lie before you. Seek the Ashlander Ashkans and the Great House Councils. Four tribes must name you Nerevarine, three houses must name you Hortator. My servant Nibani Maesa will be your guide, and when you are Hortator and Nerevarine, when you have stood before the false gods and freed the Heart from its prison, heal my people and restore Morrowind. Do this for me and with my blessing."_

My mind was bombarded with images, both things I recognized and things I did not. Visions of ashlander camps, Balmora, ash storms, Red Mountain, the Tribunal gods staring down at me. And in that moment, I cannot explain it, but I knew myself as Nerevar.

When I came out of it I saw many spirits standing around me, applauding me, giving me their blessings. I realized they were the ghosts of the bodies I had found. They were not the ones, they said, but I was. The ring had killed them but I still stood with it on my hand.

Tomorrow I return to the Urshilaku with no doubts, and they will name me Nerevarine.


	25. 14 Frostfall, 3E426

**14 Frostfall, 3E426**

The weather was on my side and remained clear until I reached the camp, at which point that soupy ashland fog rolled in. I took off my gauntlet on the hand that bears Moon-and-Star so that all would see it as I made my way to the Ashkhan's yurt.

Sul-Matuul wanted to offer me counsel before he made any sort of announcement. He smoked something out of a colored wooden pipe that made thick smoke like the outside fog and explained to me that as Nerevarine, I had a duty to fulfill the promise made in ancient times to protect and honor the rights of the tribes. I told him it was a duty I take gladly, for after all, is it not technically a promise I made although I do not directly remember? I had also come to be very fond of the Ashlanders in the time I had spent among them. They are a people after my own heart, strong and direct and honest, who had taken me in as one of their own and believed my strange story, and I admire their way of life.

His tone became a bit grim then. He pointed to Moon-and-Star and said that I was now marked as the enemy of the Temple and all its faithful. Friends would likely become enemies. But in spite of all this, it is rather important that I do not hide in fear. The persecution of the Nerevarine is written in the prophecies; I cannot escape it, it is a trial I must overcome.

When it comes to trials, I am always up for proving my strength or honor. I never turn away a test of steel or endurance. It made me feel childish to admit it but I am a bit afraid; afraid I will lose everything good I have come by, lose the friends I have made, possibly even lose my freedom again. Of course I am afraid, Sul-Matuul said, no judgment in his tone, the trial is overcoming that fear to be openly known as Nerevar, to stand before those who would despise me and refuse to back down until they name me Hortator and Nerevarine. All must know so that Morrowind can unite.

If I fail, there will not even be a Morrowind; they say the Incarnate cannot fail, I must believe that myself.

Then Nibani came in bearing a brilliantly colored ceremonial robe, altered so that it could be worn over a full set of armor, and bid me do so. I sat still and gritted my teeth while she used a needle held over a flame to pierce my ears and adorn them with beaded earrings that clatter with every move of my head. I held my tongue and didn't complain, understanding the importance of looking the part. I was happy when she mentioned the robe was mine to keep- my old Imperial-style skirt was growing quite tattered, and it just does not feel right anymore anyway.

I was led out to stand in front of the gathered Urshilaku. Nibani held up my hand to show them all Moon-and-Star while Sul-Matuul announced that I was hereby recognized as Nerevarine and warleader of the Urshilaku. I just stood there feeling like kind of a s'wit, not used to being the center of attention... I suppose that is going to have to change.

I then followed Nibasi back to her yurt so that I might learn how to find the other three tribes. She was able to point out vague regions on the map where each was located, and their names: Erabenimsun, an aggressive warlike tribe of Molag Amur whose Ashkhan had a violent disposition, Ahemmusa, a peaceful grazeland people, and Zainab, also in the grazelands, shrewd and tricky to deal with. After I've proven myself to these, then I will be confronting the Great Houses... so it is written in the fourth and fifth trials:

_A stranger's voice unites the Houses._  
_Three Halls call him Hortator._

_A stranger's hand unites the Velothi._  
_Four Tribes call him Nerevarine._

Despite being somewhat anxious and afraid, I feel changed in a positive way. To have so many questions about the strange circumstances of my existence, about my nightmares, about who I am and what it is I'm meant to do... all answered all at once with the same answer... my past is no longer a specter that haunts me. My life so far was merely a set of trials designed to trim away flaws, do away with falsehoods and cast aside doubt so that I might measure up to at least a fraction of the hero Saint Nerevar was. If I stood before him right now, would he find me worthy? Or would he call me lacking and say I am unfit to share his name and soul?

As I sat thinking to myself, the stars came out and was approached by the Urshilaku woman who I had gathered the trama root for on my first day there. For some time she sat next to me silently, just stared out at the stars with me, and I enjoyed the peaceful company. Then I caught a bit of motion out of the corner of my eye to see her handing me what looked like a small tome. "I traded for the parchment," she explained in her soft voice, "And the hide from your kagouti is the cover. You are always writing in that book but it is so old and torn. Please do not fail us, Nerevarine." With that, she returned to her yurt, not giving me the chance to do much but nod.

So, this will be my final entry in this particular volume. My next will be in this surprisingly sturdy little tome I've been given. Having no need to hold to this old one myself, and trusting in the cult of the Nerevarine, I will leave it in the care of Nibani Maesa so that I may come back to it at any time and it will be protected for future generations.

I cannot fail them, I will not. Even those that will despise and mock me, I will save. They are my people, the people I spent this whole existence wanting to know and the people I promised in my last existence I would protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED! in "Adarise Salvel, Incarnate"
> 
> Thank you for your time: I hope you enjoyed your read and continue on to the next part of the adventure! 
> 
> -Svetlaena, the Drunk Serval


End file.
